


Twilight: Sapphic addition

by Kenzejo



Series: Twilight: Sapphic addition [1]
Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-07 16:20:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 82,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16411829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenzejo/pseuds/Kenzejo
Summary: When Isabella Swan moves to the gloomy town of Forks and meets the mysterious, alluring Edythe Cullen, her life takes a thrilling and terrifying turn. With her porcelain skin, golden eyes, mesmerizing voice, and supernatural gifts, Edythe is both irresistible and enigmatic.What Bella doesn't realize is the closer she gets to her, the more she is putting herself and those around her at risk. And, it might be too late to turn back. . .Original text and characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Original text and characters all belong to Stephenie Meyer

I'd never given much thought to how I would die- Though I'd had reason enough in the last few months- but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this. 

I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me. 

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something. 

I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I would't be facing death now. But terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end. 

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.


	2. First Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most details and conversations taken verbatim from Twilight or Life and Death.

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt-sleeveless, white eyelet lace, I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka. 

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a mont every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead. 

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself-an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks. 

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

"Bella," my mom said to me-the last of a thousand times-before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? OF course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still. . . 

"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now. 

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want--I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise. 

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone. 

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small, plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about. 

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car. 

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision--like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen--just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "YOU haven't changed much. How's Renèe?" 

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face. 

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes are too permeable for Washington. MY mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as apposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down a La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast. 

"No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted. That would explain why I didn't remember him. I don a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hooping I wouldn't ask. 

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine-- its only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no, I think it was new in the early sixties--or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ch--Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic. . ."

"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, I thought to myself. . . it had possibilities--as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on. 

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression. 

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car." I tried to force some gratefulness into my voice.

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." he was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is extremely unlikely. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth--or engine. 

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence. 

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. 

It was too green--an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. The were the only kind of days their marriage had--the early ones. there, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new--well new to me--truck. It was a faded red color, with big rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged--the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser. 

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again. 

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. the wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window--these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modern stabled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. 

There was one one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact. 

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven--now fifty-eight--students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together--their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be there new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should be tan, sporty, blond--a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps-- all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete, I was always much more comfortable with a book in my hand rather than a ball; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself--and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty--it was very clear, almost translucent-looking--but it all depended on color. I had no color here. 

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were mu chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. 

But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

 

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof would fade into the background, I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle. 

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I cold feel the claustrophobia creeping ip on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unlatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by a the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at--I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at the least while I was living here. 

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable. 

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the ouse anymore. I donned my jacket--which had the feel of a biohazard suit--and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood. 

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected. 

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks Hight School, made me stop/ It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door. 

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants are everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. the room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed. 

the red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of goodie no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I wave your schedule right here, and a map of there school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could. 

When I went back out to my truck. other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me. 

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief. 

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people In front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. they were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here. 

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name--not an encouraging response--and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting . . . and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on. 

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within earshot turned to look at me. 

"Wheres your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes. 

"I'm headed toward building four, I would show you the way. . ." Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Eric," he added.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us ere walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked. 

"very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered. 

"Sunny," I smiled at him.

"You don't look very tan." 

"My mother is part albino" 

He cracked a smile at my stupid joke, and we soon fell silent. We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.

I smiled at him vaguely and went inside, hoping he wasn't flirting with me.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I could have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat. 

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but I mostly just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. She talked to fast for me to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room. 

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them. 

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at hem without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention. 

They didn't look anything alike. Of the Two boys, one was big--muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The girls were opposites; The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind out saw on the cover of Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction. 

The last girl was what caught my attention, with hair somewhere between red and brown, but different than either, kind of metallic somehow, a bronze-y color. She looked younger than the other two, who could have been in college.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky take, the palest of all the students living in the sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the rare in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes--purplish, bruiselike shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect angular. 

But all this is not why I coolant look away. 

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was most beautiful--the perfect blonde, or the beautiful bronze-haired girl.

They were all looking away--away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray--unopened soda, unbitten apple--and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I could have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging. 

"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten.

As she looked up to see who I meant--though already knowing, probably from my tone-- suddenly she looked at me, the perfect one. She looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then her dark eyes flickered to mine. Long eyes, angled up at the corner, thick lashes. 

She looked away quickly, faster than I could, though I dropped my stare with a flush of embarrassment at once. In that brief flash of a glance, her face held nothing of interest--it was as if my neighbor had called her name, and she'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. 

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"Thats Edythe and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath. 

I glanced sideways at the beautiful girls. who was looking at her tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. Her mouth was moving very quickly, her perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt she was shopping quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparent had. But Mayne that was in vogue here--small-town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. there were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home. 

"They are. . . very nice looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement. 

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though-- Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together."

Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked, "They don't look related. . ."

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. THeyre all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins--the blondes-- and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children."

"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are bother eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their Aunt or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice--fro them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and he is wife for some reason. Which the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I thing that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here. 

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. " They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only new comer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in her expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that her glance held some kind of unmet expectation. 

"Which one is the girl with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I peeked at her from the corner of my eye, and she was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today--she had a slightly frustrated expression, I looked down again.

"Thats Edythe. She's pretty of course, but doesn't date, apparently none of the guys are good enough for her." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes, I wondered which of her boyfriends fancied her.

I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again, Her face was turned away, but I thought her cheek appeared lifted, as if she were smiling, too. 

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful--even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edythe didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together ing silence. She was shy too. 

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center isle, I recognized Edythe Cullen by her unusual metallic hair, sitting next to that single open seat. 

My heart started pounding a little faster than usual.

As I walked down the isle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching her, trying to make it covert. Just as I passed, she suddenly went rigid in her seat. Her face jerked up toward mine so fast it surprised me, staring with the strangest expression--it was more than angry, it was furious, hostile. I looked away, stunned, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.

I'd been right about the eyes. They were black--coal black.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by her, confused and awkward, wondering what I could have down to earn the antagonistic glare shed given me. 

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw her posture change from the corner of my eye. She was leaning away from me, siting on the extreme edge of her chair and averting her face like she smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like strawberries, the scent of my shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher. 

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange girl next to me. Throughout the entire class, she never relaxed her stiff position on the edge of her chair, sitting as far from me as possible, with her hair hiding most of her face. Her hand was clenched into a fist on to pf her thigh, tendons standing out under her pale skin. This, too, she never relaxed. She had the sleeves of her white henley pushed up to her elbows, and her forearm flexed with surprisingly hard muscle beneath her pale skin. I couldn't help but notice how perfect that skin was. Not one freckle, not one scar. 

The class seemed to drag on longer than the rest. Was it because the day was finally ending, or because I was waiting for her tight fist to loosen? It never did; she continued to sit so still it looked like she want even breathing. What was wrong with her? Was this how she usually acted? I questioned my quick judgment on Jessica's sour grapes at lunch today. Maybe she wasn't just jealous.

I wondered briefly if she was just homophobic, but no, this couldn't have anything to do with me. She didn't know me from Eve.

I peeked up at her one more time, and regretted it. She was glaring down at me again, her black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from her, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edythe Cullen was out of her seat. Fluidly she rose--she was much taller than I'd thought--her back to me, and she was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after her. She was so mean. It wasn't fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear mum eyes would rear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency. 

"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" a male voice asked. 

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad. 

"Bella." I corrected him, with a smile.

"I'm Mike."

"Hi, Mike." 

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it. Thank you though."

"thats my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer--he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He one of the nicest people I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So did you stab Edythe Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen her act like that."

I winced. I guess I want the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edythe Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the girl I sat next to in Biology?"

"Yeah, he said. "She looked like she was in pain or something." 

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to her."

"She's weird." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I got to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I smiled at him before walking through the girls locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained--and inflicted--playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated. 

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder, I wrapped my arms around myself. 

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edythe Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. Impossible not to recognize her tangled bronze hair. She didn't seem to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

She was arguing with her in a low, velvety voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. She was trying to trade from sixth hour Biology to another time--any other time. 

this could not be about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I got to the Biology room. The look on her face must have been about some other problem. It was impossible that a stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me, I wasn't interesting enough to be worth that strong of a reaction.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling papers on the desk, waving through my hair. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edythe Cullen's back stiffened, and she turned slowly to glare at me--her face was ridiculously perfect, not even one tiny flaw to make her seem human--with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt the oddest threes of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. As if she were going to pull a gun out and shoot me. The look only lasted a second, but it was colder than the freezing wind outside. She turned back ti the receptionist. 

"Never mind then," she said quickly in a voice like wild. "I can see that its impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And she turned on her heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door. 

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Good," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced. 

When I got back to my truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to a home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, trying to think of nothing at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first few chapters are going to be pretty similar to the book, when we get closer to the actual relationship im going to start tweeking things.


	3. Open Book

The next day was better. . . and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, which Chess Club Eric glaring at him all the while; that was flattering, but unwelcome. I hoped I wouldn't have to explain to them why their attention was unwelcome. I didn't know if a small town like Forks would be very welcoming to someone like me. As far as I could tell there were no other gay people in my school, but maybe it was to early to tell. 

People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it. 

It was worse because I was I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it. And it was worse because Edythe Cullen wasn't in school at all. 

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing her bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would actually have to guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the Terminator.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica--trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her, and failing entirely--I saw that her four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and he was not with them. 

Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed to elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment she would arrive. I hoped that she would simply ignore me when she came, and prove my suspicions false. 

She didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense. 

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn't showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Edythe Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a cute girl with braces and super frizzy hair. It looked like I was going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn't be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no practice dealing with overly friendly boys. And I still wasn't sure if gently letting Mike know that he wasn't exactly my type was the way to go. 

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edythe was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason she wasn't there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet I could't stop worrying that it was true. 

When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy blue sweater. I hurried from the girls' locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed.

Last night I'd discovered that Charlie couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen duty for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to the banquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway. 

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I wanted, truing to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before--I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins, With there remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It din't look as if it bought them any acceptance here. 

No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolationist be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be oped by that degree of beauty. 

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds. 

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at hime, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was. 

When I got hime, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a streak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge. 

When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before starting on my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damp hair up into a ponytail, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had three messages.

"Bella," my mom wrote. . . 

**Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi, Mom.**

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first. 

"Bella," she wrote. . . 

 **Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.**  

The last was from this morning. 

**Isabella,**

**If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m today i'm calling Charlie.**  

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun. 

 **Mom,**  

**Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash.**

**Bella.**

I sent that, and began again. 

**Mom,**

**Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch.**

**Your blouse is at the dry cleaners. You were supposed to pick it up Friday.**

**Charlie bought me a truck. Can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.**

**I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but i'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe, I love you.**

**Bella**.

I had decided to read _Wuthering Heights_ \--the novel we were currently studying in English--yet again for the fun of it, and thats what I was doing when Charlie came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil. 

"Bella?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs. 

Who else? I thought to myself. 

"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, e would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose. 

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back. 

"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.

He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steaks cooked, and set the table. 

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room. 

"Smells good, Bell."

"Thanks."

We ate insolence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together. 

"So, how didn't you like school? Have yo made any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds. 

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Mike, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid--nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man."

"They. . . the kids. . . are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

Charlie surprised me by being angry. 

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him--lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when the first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature--I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick twogerer the way a family should--camping trips every other weekend. . . . Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I"d ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary. 

"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around." 

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand--no dishwasher--I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

 That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way. 

Edythe Cullen didn't come back to school.

Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a troop to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot and dry; than was definitely not going to be the case here in Forks. 

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edythe would be there. For all I knew, she had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn't totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed. 

MY first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful e-mails. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got. . . and shuddered at the thought. 

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well. 

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but as I smiled and waved back at everyone, I made a mental note to try harder to learn their names. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on _Wuthering Heights_. It was straightforward, and very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here; it gave me hope for the future. 

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose. 

"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ew." Snow. There went my good day.

He looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?" 

"No. that means it's to cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes--you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

Mike laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us--in the wrong direction for his next class. Mike apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush. 

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."

He just nodded, his eyes on Eric's retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain--until it melted in your socks and hair.

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing with ice melting the spikes in his hair. He and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to but food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table. 

Jessica pulled on my arm

"Hello? Bella? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong. 

"What's with Bella?" Mike asked Jessica. 

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line. 

"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick all of a sudden," I said, my eyes still on the floor.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed then to a table, my eyes never leaving my feet. 

I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering If I _should_ play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour. 

Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away.

I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If she was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was,

I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes, None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little. 

They were laughing. Edythe, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett flipped his dripping hair toward them, leaving a wide arc of splatters across the front of there jackets. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else--only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us. 

But aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite figure out what that difference was. I examined Edythe, comparing her to my memory of last week. Her skin was less pale, I decided--flushed from the snow fight maybe--the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. Her hair was darker, wet and slicked down against her head. But there was something else. I forgot to pretend I wasn't staring as I tried to put my finger on the change. 

"What are you staring at, Bella?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, Edythe's eyes flashed over to meet mine. 

I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to conceal my face. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that she didn't look harsh or unfriendly as she had the last time I'd seen her. She looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Edythe Cullen is staring at you," Jessica giggled in my ear.

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" I couldn't help asking. 

"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should she be?"

"I don't think she likes me," I confided, "I sit next to her in Biology." I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arm. 

"The Cullens don't like anybody. . . well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But she's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at her!" I hissed. 

She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she did, contemplating violence is she resisted. 

Mike interrupted us then--he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared. 

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since she didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened little flips at the thought of sitting next to her again. 

I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual--he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snippers--but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased, and a little surprised I would ever be restful for rain. I would be free to go straight home after Gym. 

Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four. 

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing. 

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice. 

I looked up, shocked that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her chair was angled toward me. Her hair was dripping wet, tangled--even so, she looked like she'd just finished shooting for a commercial. Her perfect face was friendly, open, a slight smile on her full, pink lips. But her eyes where careful. 

"My name is Edythe Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan."

My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? She was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; she was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say. 

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered. 

 She laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Bella?"

She seemed confused. "Do you prefer Isabella?"

"No, I like Bella," I said. "But I think Charlie--I mean my dad-- must call me Isabella behind my back--that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron. 

"Oh." She let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.

Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at the moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right. 

"Get started," he commanded. 

"Want to go first, partner?" Edythe asked. I looked up to see her smiling a dimpled smile so perfect that I could only stare at her like a idiot.

"Or I could start. . ." The smile faded; she was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent. 

"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead."

I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into the place under the microscope an adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly. 

My assessment was confident. "Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" she asked as I began to remove the slide. Her hand caught mine, to stop me, as she asked. Her fingers were ice cold, like she'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When she touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us. 

"I'm sorry," she muttered, pulling her hand back immediately. However, she continued to reach for the microscope. I watched her, still staggered as she examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had. 

"Prophase," she agreed, then wrote Prophase neatly on the top line of our worksheet. Even her handwriting was perfect, like she'd taken classes in penmanship or something. 

She moved the next slide into place, while I took advantage of her diverted attention to stare. So close up, you'd think I'd be able to see something--a hint of a pimple, a stray eyebrow hair, a pore, _something_ \--wrong with her. But there was nothing. 

She swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it curiously.

"Anaphase," she murmured, writing it down as she spoke.

I kept my voice indifferent. "May I?"

She smirked and pushed the microscope to me. 

I looked through the eye piece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Damn it, she was right. 

"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at her.

She handed it to me; it seemed like she was being careful not to touch my skin again. 

I took the most fleeting look I could manage. 

"Interphase." I passed her the microscope before she could ask for it. She took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while she looked, but her clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl. 

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book out under the table.

Which left me nothing to do but try not to look at her. . . unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and she was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in her face. 

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly. 

She seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. "No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes." 

She shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of her eyes the last time she'd glared at me--the color was striking against the background of her pale skin. Today, her eyes were a completely different color: a strange gold, darker than butterscotch, but with the same warm tone. I didn't understand how that was possible, unless she was lying for some reason about the contacts, or maybe Forks was just making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. Her hands were clenched into hard fists again. 

Mr. Banner come to our table then, to see why we weren't working. He looked over our shoulders to see our completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers. 

"So, Edythe, didn't you think Isabella should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Bella," Edythe corrected automatically. "Actually, she identified three of the five."

Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression skeptical. 

"Have you done this lab before?" he asked.

I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mr. Banner nodded. "Were you in advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I began doodling on my notebook again. 

"It's to bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edythe asked. I had the feeling that she was forcing herself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like she had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. 

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate. 

"You don't like the cold." it wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," she mused. 

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly. 

She looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded. 

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that--not straight out like she did, demanding.

"It's. . . complicated."

"I think I can keep up," she pressed.

I paused for along moment, and then made the mistake of meeting her gaze. Her long, dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking. 

"My mother got remarried," I said. 

"that doesn't sound so complex," she disagreed, but her tone was suddenly softer. "When did that happen?"

"Last september." I couldn't keep the sadness out of my voice. 

"And you down like him," Edythe guessed, her voice still kind.

"No, Phil is fine. A little young, maybe, but he's a good guy."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

I couldn't understand her interest, but she continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important. 

"Phil travels most of the time. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled. 

"Have I heard of him?" she asked, smiling in response, just enough for a hint of the dimples to show. 

"Probably not. He doesn't play _well_. Just minor league. He moves around a lot."

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." She said it as an assumption again, not a question. 

My chin raised a fraction. "No, she did not send me here. I sent myself."

Her eyebrows pushed together. "I don't understand," she admitted, and she seemed more frustrated by that fact than she should be. 

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to her? She stared at me, waiting.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy. . . So I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished. 

"But now you're unhappy," she pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." She shrugged, but her eyes were still intense. 

I laughed once, bitterly. "Haven't you heard? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," she agreed dryly. 

"So that's it." I insisted, wondering why she was still staring at me that way.

Her head was tilted to the side, and her gold eyes seemed to laser right through the surface of my skin. "You put on a good show," she said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more that you let anyone see."

I grimaced at her, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and looked away.

"Am I wrong?"

I tried to ignore her.

"I didn't think so," she murmured smugly. 

"Why does it matter to _you_?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds. 

"That's a very good question," she murmured, so quietly that I wondered if she was talking to herself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

I sighed, scowling at the blackboard. 

"Am I annoying you?" she asked. She sounded amused. 

I glanced at her without thinking. . . .And told the truth again. "Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read--my mother always calls me her open book." I frowned.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." She suddenly looked frustrated again, "Reading people. . . it usually comes very easily to me. But I can't--I guess I don't know quite what to make of you." She gazed into my eyes, and I fought the urge to look back down at the table again. 

She suddenly broke into a grin, "I suppose I've gotten overconfident."

I didn't know what to say to that. "I'm sorry. . ?"

She laughed, and the sound was like music, though I could't think if the instrument to compare it to. Her teeth were perfect--no surprise there--and blinding white. 

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful girl who may or may not despise me. She'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that she was leaning away from me again, her hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable. 

When the bell finally rang, Edythe rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her in amazement. 

Mike skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with a wagging tail, and decided I definitely needed to do something about him, and soon.

"That was awful," he groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Cullen for a partner."

"I didn't have trouble with it," I said, stung by his assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. "I've done the lab before, though," I added before he could get his feelings hurt. 

"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged into out raincoats. He didn't seem pleased about it. 

I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with her last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Mike's chatter as we walked to Gym, and P.E didn't do much to hold my attention, either. Mike was on my team today. He chivalrously covered my position as well as his own, so my woolgathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home. 

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure Edythe Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in m direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just to sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw her laughing. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters and detail Is from Stephenie Meyers Twilight.


	4. Phenomenon

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different. 

It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid--coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now. 

Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely. 

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edythe Cullen. And that was very, very stupid. 

I should be avoiding him entirely after my brainless and embarrassing babbling yesterday. And I was suspicious of her; why should she lie about her eyes? I was still frightened of the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from her, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured her perfect face. I was well aware that my league and her league were spheres that did not touch, and I didn't even know if she was interested in girls. So I shouldn't be at all anxious to see her today. 

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish. 

Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my unwanted speculations about Edythe Cullen by thinking about Mike and Eric, and the obvious difference in how teenagers responded to me here. I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. Maybe it was just that the people back home had watched me pass slowly through all the awkward phases of adolescence and still thought of me that way. Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. Possibly my crippling clumsiness was seen as endearing rather than pathetic, casting me as a damsel in distress. Whatever the reason, Mikes's puppy dog behavior and Eric's apparent rivalry with him were disconcerting. I wasn't sure if I didn't prefer being ignored. I could only hope that, when the time came, they would take the rejection with grace. 

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street. 

When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why id had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck--carefully holding the side for support--to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie must have had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't used to being taken care of, and Charlie's unspoken concern caught me by surprise. 

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound. 

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled. 

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once. 

Edythe Cullen was standing four cars down from me, mouth open in horror. Her face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of horror. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes. 

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit my, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I realized I was I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car id parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled grating around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me _again_. 

"Come _on_!" She said the words so quickly I almost modded them, but the voice was impossible to recognize. 

Two thin, white hands shot out in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, her pale hands fitting exactly into a deep dent in the side of the van's body. 

Then her hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, singling my legs around like a rag doll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. There was a groaning metallic thud so loud it hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt--exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been. 

It was absolutely silent for one long second. Then the screaming started. In the abrupt chaos, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Edythe Cullen's low, frantic voice in my ear. 

"Bella? Are you alright?' 

"I'm fine." MY voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized she was holding me against the side of her body in an iron grasp. 

"Be careful," she warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.

"Ow," I said, surprised. 

"That's what I thought." Nothing seemed funny to me, but it sounded like she was trying not to laugh.

"How in the. . ." I trailed off, truing to Clea my head, get my bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Bella," she said, her voice suddenly serious again. 

I turned to sit up, and this time she helped me, but then she slid as far from me as she could in the limited space. I looked at her concerned, innocent expression, and was disoriented again by her gold-colored eyes. What was I asking her?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us. 

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Taylor out of the van!" someone else shouted. There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edythe's hand pushed my shoulder down. 

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's cold," I complained. It surprised me when she chuckled under her breath, There was an edge to the sound. 

"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, and her chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."

Her expression hardened abruptly. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you." Everything around us was confusion. I could hear the lower voices of adults arriving at the scene. But I stubbornly held on to the argument; I was right, and she was going to admit it.

"Bella, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."

She stared at me, and something strange happened, she unleashed the full, devastating power of her eyes on me,, as if trying to communicate something crucial. 

"No." I set my jaw. 

The gold in her eyes blazed again. "Please, Bella."

"Why?" I asked.

"Trust me?" she pleaded. 

I could hear the sirens now. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," she snapped, suddenly exasperated. 

"Fine." I repeated angrily, unable to process her mood swings with everything else I was trying to come to terms with. What was I supposed to think, when what I remembered was impossible? 

It took six EMTs and two teachers--Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp--to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edythe insisted she hadn't been touched, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I'd hit my head, and then made it sound worse than it was, throwing around words like _concussion_ and _hemorrhage_. I wanted to die when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Edythe got to ride in the front. It was a thousand times more humiliating that I'd imagined today would be, and I hadn't even made it to the sidewalk. 

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away. 

"Bella!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher. 

"I'm completely fine, Char-Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me." 

He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper--a very distinct dent that fit the slim shape of Edythe's shoulders. . . as if she had braced herself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame. . . . 

And there was her family, looking on from the distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury but held no hint of concern for there sister's safety. 

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen--a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane. 

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edythe simply glided through the hospital doors on her own.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the embarrassing neck brace anymore. As soon as the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and thew it under the bed. 

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Taylor Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around her head, Taylor looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But she was staring anxiously at me. 

"Bella I'm so sorry!" 

"I'm fine, Taylor--you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding her soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over her forehead and left cheek. 

She ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going to fast, and I hit the ice wrong. . ." She winced as one nurse started darling at her face. 

"Don't worry about it; you missed me."

"How did you get our of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone. . ."

"Umm Edythe Cullen--She was standing next to me." I'd always been a terrible liar; I didn't sound convincing at all. 

"Cullen? I didn't see her. . . wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?" 

"I thinks, She's here somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher."

I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen. 

They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Tayler's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince her I was fine, she continued to torment herself. Finally, I loved my eyes and ignored her. She kept up a remorseful mumbling. 

"Is she sleeping?" a musical voice asked. MY eyes flew open. 

Edythe was standing at the foot of my bed, her expression more a smirk than a smile. I stared at her, trying to put the pieces together in my head. She didn't look like someone who could stop a moving vehicles with her bare hands. But then, she also didn't look like anyone I'd ever seen before. 

"Hey, um, Edythe, I'm really sorry-" Taylor began. 

Edythe lifted a hand to stop her. 

"No blood, no foul," she said, flashing her bright white teeth. She moved to sit on the edge of Taylor's bed, facing me. She smirked again. 

"So, what's the verdict?" she asked me. 

"There's nothing wrong with me, but they won't let me go," I said. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," she answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was young, he was blond. . . and he was handsomer than any movie star I'd ever seen. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Edythe's father. 

"So, Miss Swan," Dr. Cullen said in a remarkably appealing voice, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.

He walked to the light board on the wall over my head, and turned it on. 

"Your X-rays look good," he said. "Does your head hurt? Edythe said you hit it pretty hard."

"I'm fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Edythe. 

The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced. 

"Tender?" he asked. 

"Not really." I'd had worse.

I heard a chuckle, and looked over to see Edythe's patronizing smile. My eyes narrowed. 

"Well, your father is in the waiting room--you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Cant I go back to school?" I asked, imagining Charlie trying to be attentive. 

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

I glanced at Edythe. "Does _she_ get to go to school?"

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Edythe said blithely. 

"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in our waiting room."

"Ugh," I moaned.

Dr. Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?" 

"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly--I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. He looked concerned.

"I'm fine," I assured him again. No need to tell him my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," he suggested as he steadied me. 

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted. 

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as he signed my chart with a florist. 

"Lucky Edythe happened to be standing next to me," I amended with a hard glance at the subject of my statement. 

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him. Then he looked away, at Taylor, and walked to the next bed. MY intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it. 

"I'm afraid that _you'll_ have to stay with us just a little bit longer," he said to Taylor, and began checking her cuts. 

As son as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Edythe's side. 

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I hissed under my breath. She took a step back from me, her jaw suddenly clenched. 

"Your father is waiting for you," she said through her teeth.

I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Taylor. 

"I need to speak with you alone," I pressed. 

She glared--but it wasn't the same as that first day, not nearly as homicidal, so I just waited. After a second, she turned her back and stalked quickly down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turn the corner into a short hallway, she spun around to face me. 

"What do you want?" she asked, sounding annoyed. Her eyes were cold. 

Her unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less severity than I'd intended. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded her. 

"I saved your life--I don't owe you anything." 

I flinched back from the resentment in her voice. "You promised."

"Bella you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." her tone was cutting. 

MY temper flared now, and I glared defiantly at her. "There's nothing wrong with my head." 

She glared back. "What do you want from me, Bella?"

"I want to know the truth," I said. "Want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you _think_ happened?" she finally snapped.

It came out in a rush. 

"All in know is that you weren't anywhere near me--Taylor didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hi try head too hard. That van was going to crush us both--and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of it--and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt al all--and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up. . ." I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn't continue. I was so mad I could feel the tears coming; I tried to force them back by grinding my teeth together. 

She was staring at me, here eyes wide and incredulous. But she couldn't entirely hide the tension, the defensiveness. 

"You think I lifted a van off you?" Her tone questioned my sanity, but there was something off. It was like a line delivered by a skilled actor--so hard to doubt, but at the same time, the frame of the movie screen reminded you nothing was actually real. 

I just nodded once

She smiled, hard and mocking. "Nobody will believe that, you know."

"I'm not going to tell anybody."

Surprise flitted across her face, and the smile faded. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," I insisted. "I don't like to lie--so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you." I waited, fuming and expectant. 

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Nope."

"In that case. . . . I hope you enjoy disappointment." 

She scowled at me, and I stared back, thoughts scattered by how beautiful her anger was. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being totally distracted. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel. 

"Why did you even bother?" I asked frigidly. 

She paused, and for a brief moment her perfect face was unexpectedly vulnerable. 

"I don't know." she whispered. 

And then she turned her back on me and walked away. 

I was so angry, it took me a few minutes until I could move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I'd feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured him sullenly. I was still aggravated, not in the mood for chitchat.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Cullen saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home." I sighed. Mike and Jessica and Eric were all there beginning to converge on us. "Let's go," I urged.

Charlie put one arm behind my back, not quite touching me, and led me to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn't need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief--the first time I'd ever felt that way--to get into the cruiser.

We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Edythe's defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I'd witnessed. 

When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.

"Um. . . you'll need to call Renèe." He hung his head, guilty. 

I was appalled. "You told Mom?!"

"I was worried, and she deserved to know."

I sighed and slammed the cruiser's door a little harder than necessary on my way out. 

My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at leas thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home--forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment--but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the mystery Edythe presented. And more than a little obsessed by Edythe herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be. 

I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves, as touched as I was that he cared enough to keep checking on me. I stopped on my way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did hep, and, as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep.

That was the first night I dreamt of Edythe Cullen. 

 


	5. Invitations

In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Edythe's skin. I couldn't see her face, just her back as she walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to her; no matter how loud I called, she never turned. Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, she was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach. 

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. Taylor Crowley was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince her what I wanted more than anything else was for her to forget all about it--especially since nothing had actually happened to me--but she remained insistent. She followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Mike and Eric were even less friendly toward her than they were to each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan. 

No one seemed concerned about Edythe, though I explained over and over that she was the hero--how she had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Jessica, Mike, Eric, and everyone else always commented that they hadn't even seen her there till the van was pulled away. 

I wondered to myself why no one else had seen her standing so far away, before she was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. Which chagrin, I realized the probable cause--no one was as aware of Edythe as I always was. No one else watched her the way I did. How pitiful.

Edythe was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for her firsthand account. People avoided her as usual. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only among themselves. None of them, especially Edythe, glanced my way anymore. 

When she sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow, she seemed totally unaware of my presence. Only now and then, when her fists would suddenly ball up--skin stretched even whiter over the bones--did I wonder if she wasn't quite as oblivious as she appeared. 

She wished she hadn't pulled me from the path of Taylor's van--there was no other conclusion I could come to. 

I wanted very much to talk to her, and the day after the accident I tried. The last time I'd seen her, outside the ER, we'd both been so furious. I still was angry that she would't trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But she had in fact saved my life, no matter how she'd done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded into awed gratitude. 

She was already seated when I got to Biology, looking straight ahead. I sat down, expecting her to turn toward me. She showed no sign that she realized I was there.

"Hello, Edythe," I said pleasantly, to show her that I was going to behave myself. 

She turned her head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded once, and then looked the other way. 

And that was the last contact I'd had with her, though she was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched her sometimes, unable to stop myself--from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as her golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day. But in class I gave no more notice that she existed than she showed me. I was miserable. And the dreams continued. 

Despite my outright lies, the tenor of my e-mails alerted Renèe to my depression, and she called a few times, worried. I tried to convince her it was just the weather that had me down.

Mike, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner. I could see he'd been worried that Edythe's daring rescue might have impressed me, and he was relieved that it seemed to have the opposite effect. He grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edythe as completely as she ignored us. 

Which made me wonder, did Mike have an inkling that I would be interested in girls? I didn't think I was that obvious, but perhaps he noticed me notice Edythe. And that was why he was so cold to Taylor. Because he knew that she had a better chance than he did at winning my affections. 

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Mike was disappointed he'd never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed. 

Jessica made me aware of another event looming on the horizon--she called the first Tuesday of March to ask my permission to invite Mike to the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks. 

"Are you sure you don't mind. . . you weren't planning to ask him?" she persisted when I told her I didn't mind in the least.

"No, Jess, I'm not going," I assured her. Dancing was glaringly outside my range of abilities. "And besides," I continued cautiously, "Mike isn't exactly my. . . type."

"What do you mean?" Her voice picked up in enthusiasm, sensing that she was going to get some good gossip. 

I hesitated, suddenly not sure. I knew now that the general LGBT population in Forks was slim to none, there were few people in my school that were out. And they were treated the same as everyone else, but I still was hesitant.

Finally I sighed, I was going to have to come out sometime, and now seemed as good time as any. "Well, Jess, I'm actually not. . . interested in guys at all." my voice didn't sound as confident as I wanted it to. 

"Oh! oh! okay! thats fine then. Do you think you wanted to ask Taylor then? I know she seems into you." Her attempt to convince me was genuine, and my shoulders relaxed. 

"No I'm definitely not going. Dancing isn't really my thing," I explained. "You have fun with Mike."

The next day, I was surprised that Jessica wasn't her usual gushing self in Trig and Spanish. She was silent as she walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask her why. If Mike had turned her down, I wouldn't know how to comfort her. 

My fears were strengthened during lunch when Jessica sat as far from Mike as possible, chatting animatedly with Eric. Mike was unusually quiet. 

Mike was still quiet as he walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on his face a bad sign. But he didn't roach the subject until I was in my seat and he was perched on my desk. As always, I was electrically aware of Edythe sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if she were merely an invention of my imagination.

"So," Mike said, looking at the floor, "Jessica asked me to the spring dance." 

"That's great." I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "You'll have a lot of fun with Jessica."

"Well. . ." He floundered as he examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. "I told her I had to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" I let disapproval color my tone, though I was relieved he hadn't given her an absolute no. 

His face was bright red as he looked down again. Pity shook my resolve. 

"I was wondering if. . . well, if you might be planning to ask me."

I paused for a moment, hating the wave of guilt that swept through me. But I saw, from the corner of my eye, Edythe's head tilt reflexively in my direction.

"Mike, I think you should tell her yes," I said. 

"Did you already ask someone?" Did Edythe notice how Mike's eyes flickered in her direction?

"No," I assured him, "I'm not going to the dance at all."

"Why not?" Mike demanded.

I didn't want to get into the safety hazards that dancing presented, so I quickly made new plans.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway--it was suddenly the perfect time to go.

"Can't you go some other weekend?" 

"Sorry, no," I said. "So you shouldn't make Jess wait any longer--it's rude."

"Yeah, you're right," he mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. Mr. Banner began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

And Edythe was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in her black eyes.

I stared back, surprised, expecting her to look away. She didn't. Her eyes kept boring into mine, like she was trying to find something really important inside them. I continued to stare also, unable to break eye contact. My hands started to shake. 

"Ms. Cullen?" the reacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I hadn't heard.

"The Krebs cycle," Edythe answered, seeming reluctant as she turned to look at Mr. Banner.

I looked down at my book as soon as her eyes released me, trying to find my place. Cowardly as ever, I shifted my hair over my right shoulder to hide my face. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me--just because she'd happened to look at me for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn't allow her to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy; crushing on a straight girl. 

I tried very hard not to be aware of her for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let her know that I was aware of her. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to her to gather my things, expecting her to leave immediately as usual. 

"Bella?" Her voice shouldn't have been so familiar to me, as if I'd known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks. 

I turned slowly, unwillingly. I didn't want to feel what I knew I _would_ feel when I looked at her too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I finally turned to her; her expression was unreadable. She didn't say anything. 

"What? Are you speaking to me again?" I finally asked, an unintentional note of petulance in my voice. 

Her lips twitches, fighting a smile. "No, not really," she admitted.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, aware that I was gritting my teeth. She waited. 

"Then what do you want, Edythe?" I asked, keeping my closed; it was easier to talk to her coherently that way. 

"I'm sorry." She sounded sincere. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

I opened my eyes. Her face was very serious. 

"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice guarded. 

"It's better if we're not friends," she explained. "Trust me." 

My eyes narrowed. I'd heard _that_ before. 

"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," I hissed through my teeth, "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

"Regret?" the word, and my tone, obviously caught her off guard. "Regret for what?" 

"For not letting Taylor's van crush me when it had the chance."

She looked completely shocked. She stared at me for a minute, wide-eyed, and when she finally spoke she sounded mad. 

"You think I regret saving your life?" The words were quiet, just under her breath, but she sounded mad.

"I _know_ you do," I snapped. 

"You don't know anything." She was definitely mad. 

I turned my head sharply away from her, clenching my jaw against all the will accusations I wanted to hurl at her. I gathered my books together, then stood and walked to the door. I meant to sweep dramatically out of the room, but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the doorjamb and dropped my books. I stood there for a moment, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up. She was there; she'd already stacked them into a pile. She handed them to me, her face hard. 

"Thank you," I said icily.

Her eyes narrowed, "You're welcome."

I straightened up swiftly, turned away from her again, and stalked off to Gym without looking back. 

Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball. MY team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot. Sometimes I took people with me. Today I was worse than usual because my head was so filled with Edythe. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but she kept creeping back into my thought just when I really needed my balance. 

It was a relief, as always, to leave. I almost ran to the truck; there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The truck had suffered only minimal damage in the accident. I'd had to replace the tailings, and if I'd had a real paint job, I would have touched that up. Taylor's parents had to sell their van for parts. 

I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a tall, dark figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I realized it was just Eric. I started walking again. 

"Hey, Eric," I called.

"HI, Bella."

"What's up?" I said as I was unlocking the door. I wasn't paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took me by surprise. 

"Uh, I was just wondering. . . if you would go to the spring dance with me?" His voice broke on the last word.

"I thought it was girls' choice," I said, too startled to be diplomatic. 

"Well, yeah," he admitted, shamefaced. 

I recovered my composure and tried to make my smile warm. "That you for asking me, but I'm going to be In Seattle that day,"

"Oh" he said. "Well, maybe next time."

I coughed awkwardly, "maybe. . ." then bit my lip. I wouldn't want him to take that too literally. 

He slouched off, back toward the school. I heard a low laugh. 

Edythe was walking pst the front of my truck, looking straight forward, her lips pressed together. I yanked the door open and jumped inside, slamming it loudly behind me. I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle. Edythe was in her car already, tow spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. She stopped there--to wait for her family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of her shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Directly behind me, Taylor Crowley was in her recently acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too aggravated to acknowledge her. 

While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over, it was Taylor. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused. Her car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up. 

"I'm sorry, Taylor, I'm stuck behind Cullen." I was annoyed--obviously the holdup wasn't my fault.

"Oh, I know--I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." She grinned.

This could not be happening. 

"Will you go to the spring dance with me? she continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Taylor." My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn't her fault that Mike and Eric had already used up my quota of patience for the day. 

"Yeah, Mike said that," she admitted.

"Then why-"

She shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting him down easy."

Okay, it was completely her fault.

"Sorry, Taylor," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I really am going out of town." 

"Thats cool. We still have prom." 

And before I could respond, she winked at me and walked back to her car. I could feel the shock on my face. I looked forward to see Alice, Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper all sliding into the Volvo. In her rearview mirror, Edythe's eyes were on my. She was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if she'd heard every word Taylor had said. MY foot itched toward the gas pedal. . . . one little bump wouldn't hurt any of them, just that glossy silver paint job. I revved the engine.

But they were all in, and Edythe was speeding away. I drove home slowly, carefully, muttering to myself the whole way. 

When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but might be Charlie or my mom. 

It was Jessica, and she was jubilant; Mike had caught her after school to accept her invitation. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. She had to go, she had to call Angela and Lauren to tell them. I suggested--with casual innocence--that maybe Angela, the shy girl who had Biology with me, could ask Eric. And Lauren, a standoffish girl who always ignored me at the lunch table, could ask Taylor; I'd heard she was still available. Jess thought that was a great idea. Now that she was sure of Mike, she actually sounded sincere when she said she withed I would go to the dance. I gave her my Seattle excuse. 

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner--dicing the chicken especially; I didn't want to take another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Edythe had spoken today. What did she mean, it was better if we weren't friends?

My stomach twisted as I realized what she must have meant. She must see how absorbed I was by her; she must not want to lead me on. . . so we couldn't even be friends. . . because she wasn't interested at all. 

Of course she wasn't interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging--a delayed reaction to the onions. I wasn't _interesting_. And she was. Interesting. . . and brilliant. . . and mysterious. . . and perfect. . . and beautiful. . .and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand. Not to mention that she is probably straight.

Well, that was fine. I could leave her alone. I _would_ leave her alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southeast, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven. 

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. I couldn't blame him--the closest edible Mexican food was probably in Southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. It was fun to watch as he slowly began trusting me in the kitchen.

"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.

"Yeah, Bella?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day a week form Saturday. . . if that's okay?" I didn't want to ask permission--it set a bad precedent--but I felt rude, so I tacked it on at the end. 

"Why?" He hounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.

"Well, I wanted to get a few books--the library here is pretty limited--and maybe look at some clothes." I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn't had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn't const me quite a bit in the gas department. 

"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas milage," he said, echoing my thoughts. 

"I know, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia--and Tacoma if I have to." 

"Are you going all by yourself?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if he was suspicious I had a secret boyfriend or just worried about the car trouble.

"Yes."

"Seattle is a big city--you could get lost," he fretted.

"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle--and I can read a map, don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to come with you?" 

I tried to be crafty as I hid my horror. 

"That's all right, Dad, I'll probably just be in dressing rooms all day--very boring."

"Oh, okay." The thought of sitting in woman's clothing stores for any period of time immediately put him off. 

"Thanks." I smiled at him. 

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

Only in a town this small would a _father_ know when the high school dances were.

"No--I don't dance, Dad." He, of all people, should understand that--I didn't get my balance problems from my mother. 

He did understand. "Oh, that's right," he realized. 

The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn't want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing her a new car. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Edythe Cullen was right next to me, leaving casually against my truck. 

"How do you _do_ that?" I asked in amazed irritation. 

"Do what?" She held my key out as she spoke. As I reached for it, she dropped it into my palm. 

"Appear out of thin air." 

"Bella, it's not my Gault if you are exceptionally unobservant." Her voice was quiet as usual--velvet, muted. Her lips were holding back a smile. Like she thought I was hilarious. 

I scowled at her perfect face. Her eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts. 

"Why the traffic jam last night?" I demanded, still looking away. "I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist, not irritating me to death." 

"That was for Taylor's sake, not mine. I had to give her, her chance to ask you."

"You. . . ." I gasped. I couldn't think of a bad enough word. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn her, but she only seemed more amused. 

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," she continued, like I hadn't spoken. 

"So you _are_ trying to irritate me to death? Since Taylor's van didn't do the job?"

The amused half-smile was gone, and her face was suddenly hard. 

"Bella, you are utterly absurd." she said, her voice low and cold. 

That was it, I turned my back and started to walk away.

"Wait," she called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But she was next to me, easily keeping pace. 

"I'm sorry, that was rude," she said, as we walked. I ignored her. "I'm not saying it isn't true," she continued, "but it was rude to say it, anyway."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I grumbled. 

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me," she chucked, she seemed to recover her good humor. 

"Do you have multiple personality disorder?" I asked severely. 

"You're doing it again."

I sighed. "Fine then. What do you want to ask?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday--you know, the day of the spring dance--"

"Are you trying to be _funny_?" I interrupted her, wheeling toward her. My face got drenched as I looked up at her expression. 

Her eyes were wickedly amused, the hint of dimples threatening on her cheeks. "Will you please allow me to finish?"

I bit my lop and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I wouldn't do anything rash. 

"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

That was unexpected.

"What?" I wasn't sure what she was getting at. 

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

"With who?" I asked, not letting myself hope she meant herself.

"Myself, obviously." She enunciated every syllable, as if she were talking to someone mentally handicapped. 

I was still stunned. " _Why_?" 

"Well I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

"My truck works perfectly fine, thank you very much for your concern." I started to walk again, but I was too surprised to maintain the same level of anger.

"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" She matched my pace once again. 

"I don't see how that is any of your business." Stupid, shiny Volvo owner."

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

"Honestly, Edythe." I felt a thrill go through me as said her name, and I hated it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't ant to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, thanks, now that's _all_ cleared up." Heavy sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily look at her face. Which certainly didn't help my clarity of thought. 

"It would be more. . . _prudent_ for you not to be my friend," she explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Bella."

Her eyes were gloriously intense as she uttered that last sentence, the long lines of her lashes stark black against her skin, her voice smoldering. I couldn't remember how to breathe. 

"Will you go with me to Seattle?" she asked, still intense.

I couldn't speak yet, so I just nodded.

A quick smile reshaped her face, and then she was serious again.

"You really should stay away from me," she warned. "I'll see you in class." 

She spun on her heel and then walked quickly back the way we'd come.


	6. Blood Type

I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started. 

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Swan," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone. 

I flushed and hurried to my seat.

It wasn't till class ended that I realized Mike wasn't sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Eric both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. Mike seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky. 

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Edythe had said, and the way her eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to her on any level. 

So I was impatient and frightened as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see her face, to see if she'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Jessica babbled on and on about her dance plans--Lauren and Angela had asked the other people and they were all going together--completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on her table. The other four were there, but she was absent. Had she gone home? I followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite--I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

"Edythe Cullen is staring at you again," Jessica said, finally breaking through my abstraction with her name. "I wonder why she's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edythe, dimples showing as she smiled, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where she usually sat. Once she'd caught my eye, she raised one hand and motioned with her index finger for me to join her. As I stared back in disbelief, she winked. 

"Does she mean _you_?" Jessica asked with a suggestive tone, astonishment in her voice. 

"Maybe she needs help with her Biology homework," I muttered, not liking that the minute I saw her, it was as if I could breathe again, "Um, I'd better go see what she wants."

I could feel her staring after me as I walked away. 

When I reached her table, I stood behind the chair across from her, unsure. 

"Why don't you sit with me today?" she asked, smiling. 

I sat down automatically, watching her with caution, She was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that she might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up. 

She seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"This is different," I finally managed. 

"Well. . ." She paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly." 

I waited for her to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by. 

"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," I eventually pointed out. 

"I know." She smiled again, and then she changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

"They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back. 

"I may not give you back, though," she said with a wicked glint in her eyes. I gulped.

She laughed. "You look worried."

"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually. . . what brought this on?"

"I told you--I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." She was still smiling, but her eyes were serious. 

"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.

"Yes--giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." Her smile faded as she explained, and a hard edge crept into her voice. 

"You lost me again." 

The breathtaking dimpled smile reappeared.

"I always say too much when I'm talking to you--that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry--I don't understand any of it," I said wryly. 

"I'm counting on that."

"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends. . .," she mused, dubious. 

"Or not," I muttered.

She grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind her smile, the warning was real. 

"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in my stomach and keep my voice even. 

"Yes, because you're not listening to me, I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too." My eyes narrowed. 

She smiled apologetically. 

"So, as long as I'm being. . . not smart, we'll try to be friends?" I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange. 

"That sounds about right."

I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now. 

"What are you thinking?" she asked curiously. 

I looked up into her deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

Her jaw tightened, but she kept her smile in place with some effort.

"Are you having any luck with that?" she asked in an offhand tone. 

"Not too much," I admitted.

She chuckled. "What are your theories?" 

I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that. 

"Won't you tell me?" she asked, tilting her head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile. Her hair was down today, and a few strands escaped from behind her ear. I resisted the urge to tuck them back into place myself. 

I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's _really_ frustrating, you know," she complained. 

"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't _imagine_ why that would be frustrating at all--just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean. . . now, why would that be frustrating?"

She frowned, her lips putting out in a distracting way. I worked to hold on to my focus.

"Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person also didn't a wide range of bizarre things--from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised. That, also, would be _very_ non-frustrating."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"

"I don't like double standards."

We stared at each other, unsmiling. 

She glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, she giggled.

"What?"

"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you--he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight," She giggled again. 

"I don't have a boyfriend, so I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."

"Except me, of course."

"Yes. Except for you." Her mood shifted suddenly; her eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away from the intensity of her stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table with out seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, distracted.

"No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full--of butterflies. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of her.

"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand her expression--it looked like she was enjoying some private joke. 

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.

She was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want." 

"It's not much," I assured her. 

She waited, guarded but curious.

"I just wondered. . . if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

"That sounds fair." She was pressing she lips together in an obvious attempt to keep from laughing when I looked up. 

"Thanks."

"Then can I have one answer in return?" she demanded.

"One."

"Tell me _one_ theory."

Whoops. "Not that one."

"Your didn't qualify, you just promised me one answer," she reminded me.

"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded her back.

"Just one theory--I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will." I was positive about that.

She looked down, then glanced up at me through her thick lashes, her long gold eyes scorching underneath. 

"Please?" she breathed, leaning toward me. Without permission, my body leaned closer to her, like she was a magnet and I was a paper clip, till her face was less than a foot from mine. My mind went blank.

"Er, what?" I asked, dazed.

"One little theory," she purred. "Please?"

"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was she a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

"That's not very creative," she scoffed.

"I'm sorry, that's all I've got." I said, miffed.

"You're not even close," she teased.

"No spiders?"

"Nope."

"And no radioactivity?"

"None."

"Dang," I sighed.

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," she chuckled.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

She struggled to reign down the dimples.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned her.

"I wish you wouldn't try." She was serious again.

"Because. . . ?"

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the villain?" She smiled playfully, but her eyes were impenetrable.

"Oh," I said, as several things she'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I see."

"Do you?" Her face was abruptly severe, as if she were afraid that she'd accidentally said too much.

"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words. She _was_ dangerous. She'd been trying to tell me that all along. 

She just looked at me, her porcelain face was vulnerable, without walls or secrets. Her eyes were wide now, full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.

"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that you're bad."

"You're wrong." Her voice was almost inaudible. She looked down, reaching out to steal the lid for my lemonade, which she then spun like a top between her fingers. I took advantage of her inattention to stare some more. She meant what she was saying--that was obvious. She wanted me to be afraid of her. But I just felt anxious, on edge. . . and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near her. 

The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late." 

"I'm not going to class today," she said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.

 "Why not?"

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." She smiled up at me, but her eyes were still troubled. 

"Well, I'm going," I told her. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.

She turned her attention back to her makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me puttying out the door--with a last glance confirming that she hadn't moved a centimeter.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped. 

I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me. Mike looked resentful; Angela surprised, and slightly awed. 

Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order, He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on MIke's table, telling him to start passing them around the class. 

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with a four-pronged applicator--" he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick, "--and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped. 

"I'll be coming around with a trapper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." He began at MIke's table again, carefully putting one drop of water inch of the four squares. "Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet. . . ." He grabbed Mike's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of MIke's middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead. 

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving. 

"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears. 

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission-- I have slips at my desk."

He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"Bella, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed. 

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head.

"Are you feeling faint?" 

"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance. 

"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?" he called. 

I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered. 

"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked. 

"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.

Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.

Mike towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped. 

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.

He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little. 

"Wow, you're green, Bella," Mike said nervously.

"Bella?" a different voice called from the distance.

No! please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice. 

"What's wrong-- is she hurt?" Her voice was closer now, and she sounded upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not throw up. 

Mike seemed stressed. "I think she's fainted. I don't know what happened, she didn't even stick her finger."

"Bella." Edythe's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

"No," I groaned. "Go away." 

She chuckled.

"I was taking her to the nurse," Mike explained in a defensive tone, "but she wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take her," Edythe said. I could hear the smile in her voice. "You can go back to class."

"No," Mike protested. "I'm supposed to do it."

Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Edythe had scooped me up in her arms, as easily as if I weighted ten points instead of a hundred and ten. but then again, I didn't weigh as much as a van. 

"Put me down!" Please, please let me not vomit on her. She was walking before I was finished talking. 

"Hey!" Mike called, already ten paces behind us. 

Edythe ignored him. "You look awful," she told me, grinning. 

"Put me back on the sidewalk," I moaned. The rocking movement of her walk was not helping. She held me away from her body, gingerly, supporting all my weight with just her arms-- it didn't seem to bother her. 

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" she asked. Apparently, this was hilarious.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my strength, clamping my lips together, praying that I didn't throw up on her. 

"And not even your own blood!" She laughed. It was like the sound of a bell ringing.

I don't know how she opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.

"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.

"She fainted in Biology," Edythe explained.

I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edythe was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of her to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a level, astonished, as Edythe swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then she moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. Her eyes were bright, excited.

"She's just a little faint," she reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood tying in Biology."

The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."

She muffled a snicker.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."

"I know," I sighed. The nausea was already fading. 

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted. Edythe coughed to hide another laugh.

"You can go back to class now," she told her.

"I'm supposed to stay with her." She said this with such assured authority that-- even though she pursed her lips-- the nurse didn't argue it further. 

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.

"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close. 

"I usually am-- but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," she admitted after a pause. Her tone made it sound like she was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Ha ha." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly-- I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."

"He absolutely loathes me," Edythe said cheerfully.

"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if she could. 

"I saw his face-- I could tell."

"How did you see me?" I thought you were ditching." I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response-- it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.

"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.

"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should. 

I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in. 

"We've got another one," she warned. 

I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid. 

I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."

And then Mike staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow looking Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Edythe and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

"Oh no," Edythe muttered. "Go out to the office, Bella."

I looked up at her, bewildered.

"Trust me-- go."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the infirmary. I could feel Edythe right behind me. 

"You actually listened to me." She was surprised.

"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me. 

"People can't small blood," she contradicted.

"Well, I can-- that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust. . . and salt."

She was staring at me with a wary expression. 

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

Mike came through then, glancing from me to Edythe. The look he gave Edythe confirmed what Edythe had said about loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum. 

" _You_ look better," he accused.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.

"It's not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Are you going back to class?" 

"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess. . . So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edythe, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."

"We're meeting at my dad's store; at ten." His eyes flickered to Edythe again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation.

"I'll be there." I promised. 

"I'll see you in Gym, then," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door. 

"See you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his round face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulder slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again. . . in Gym.

"Gym." I groaned.

"I can take care of that." I hadn't notice Edythe moving to my side, but she spike now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," she muttered.

That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting spells always exhausted me. 

I heard Edythe speaking softly at the counter.

"Ms. Cope?" 

"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.

"Bella has Gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?" Her voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming her eyes would be. 

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edythe?" Ms. Cope asked him.

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Bella," she called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a it. 

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With her back to the receptionist, her expression became sarcastic. 

"I'll walk."

I stood carefully, and I was still fine. She held the door for me, her smile polite but her eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice-- the first time I'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky-- as I washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration. 

"Thanks," I said as she followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym." 

"Anytime." She was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.

"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping she would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture her loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; she didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that she might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.

"Where are you all going, exactly?" She was still looking ahead, expressionless. But the question made me hope that she was considering it. 

"Down to La Push, to First Beach." I studied her face, trying to read it. Her eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally. 

She glanced down at me from the corner of her eye, smiling wryly. "I really don't thing I was invited."

I sighed. "I just invited you."

"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap." Her eyes danced; she was enjoying the idea more than she should. 

"Mike-schmike," I muttered, preoccupied by the way she'd said "you and I." I liked it more than _I_ should. 

We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back. 

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, surprised. She was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand.

I was confused. "I'm going home."

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" Her voice was indignant.

"What condition? And what about my truck?" I complained. 

"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." She was towing me toward her car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. She'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did. 

"Let go!" I insisted. She ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then she finally freed me-- I stumbled against the passenger door.

"You're so _pushy_!" I grumbled. 

"It's open," was all she responded. She got in the driver's side. 

"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!" I stood by the car, fuming. It was raining harder now, and I'd never put my hood up, so my hair was dripping down my back. 

She lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in, Bella."

I didn't answer. I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before she could catch me. I had to admit, they weren't good. 

"I'll just drag you back," she threatened, guessing my plan.

I tried to maintain what dignity I could as I got into her car. I wasn't very successful-- I looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeezed. 

"This is completely unnecessary," I said stiffly.

She didn't answer. She fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down. As she pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to give her the silent treatment-- my face in full pout mode-- but then I recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my intentions. 

"Clair de Lune?" I asked, surprised.

"You know Debussy?" She sounded surprised, too.

"Not well," I admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house-- I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my gavottes, too." She stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What is your mother like?" she asked me suddenly.

I glanced over to see her studying my with curious eyes. 

"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. She raised her eyebrows. "I have too much Charlie in me. She's more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her was making me depressed.

"How old are you, Bella?" Her voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine. She'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river. 

"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.

"You don't seem seventeen."

Her tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.

"What?" she asked, curious again.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," I noted. 

She made a face and changed the subject. 

"So why did your mother marry Phil?"

I was surprised she would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.

"My mother. . . she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me.

"Do you approve?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy. . . and he is who she wants."

"That's very generous. . . I wonder," she mused.

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think?" No matter who your choice was?" She was suddenly intent, her eyes searching mine. 

"I-I think so," I stuttered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different."

"No one too scary then," she teased.

I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's your definition?"

But she ignored my question and asked me another. "Do you think that _I_ could be scary?" She raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened her face. 

I pretend to examine her face for a minute, just as an excuse to stare at her, my favorite thing to do.

Her features were so delicate, so symmetrical. Her face would stop anyone in their tracks, but they probably wouldn't want to run in the other direction. The opposite. 

But then I remembered that first time I sat next to her, her glare had made my hair stand on end, and I changed my mind. 

"Hmmmm. . . I think you _could_ be, if you wanted to." 

"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and her heavenly face was suddenly serious.

"No." But I answered too quickly. Her dimpled smile returned.

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract her. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

She was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?" I verified.

"Yes."

I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." Her tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. 

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way she spoke of them.

"Yes." She smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You're very lucky."

"I know I am."

"And your brother and sister?"

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." I didn't want to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." She grinned at me. 

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.

She laughed, and there was an edge to her laughter.

"Have fun at the beach. . . good weather for sunbathing." She glanced out at the sheeting rain. 

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

"No, Emmett and I are starting the weekend early." 

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice. 

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.

"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled her, though. A smile was playing around the edges of her lips. 

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" She turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of her burning gold eyes.

I nodded helplessly.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So. . . try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?" She flashed her dimples. 

The helplessness had faded as she spoke. I glared at her.

"I'll see what I can do," I snapped as I umped out into the rain. I slammed the door behind me with excessive force.

She was still smiling as she drove away. 

 


	7. Scary Stories

As I sat in my room, trying to concentrate on the third act of _Macbeth_ , I was really listening for my trick. I would have thought, even over the pounding rain, I could have heard the engine's roar. But when I went to peek out the curtain--again--it was suddenly there.

I wasn't looking forward to Friday, and it more than lived up to my non-expectations. Of course there were the fainting comments. Jessica especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. Luckily Mike had kept his mouth shut, and no one seemed to know about Edythe's involvement. She did have a lot of questions about lunch, though.

"So what did Edythe Cullen want yesterday?" Jessica asked in Trig.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "She never really got to the point."

"You looked kind of mad," she fished.

"Did I?" I kept my expression blank.

"You know, I've never seen her sit with anyone but her family before. That was interesting." Her voice had a suggestive tone to it, and I knew what she was thinking.

"Interesting," I agreed. "But we're friends." She looked at me like I was missing something; she flipped her dark curls impatiently. I tried to focus back on what the teacher was droning on about. 

The worst part about Friday was that, even though I knew she wasn't going to be there, I still hoped. When I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica and Mike, I couldn't keep from looking at her table, where Rosalie, Alice, and Jasper sat talking, heads close together. And I couldn't stop the gloom that engulfed me as I realized I didn't know how long I would have to wait before I saw her again. 

At my usual table, everyone was full of out plans for the next day. Mike was animated again, putting a great deal of trust in the local weatherman who promised sun tomorrow. I'd have to see that before I believed it. But it was warmer today-- almost sixty. Maybe the outing wouldn't be completely miserable. 

I intercepted a few unfriendly glances from Lauren during lunch, which I didn't understand until we were all walking out of the room together. I was right behind her, just a foo from her slick, silver blond hair, and she was evidently unaware of that.

". . .don't know why _Bella_ "--she sneered my name--"doesn't just sit with the Cullens from now on," I heard her muttering to Mike. I'd never noticed what an unpleasant, nasal voice she had, and I was surprised by the malice in it. I really didn't know her well at all, certainly not well enough for her to dislike me--or so I'd thought.

"She's my friend; she sits with us," Mike whispered back loyally, but also a bit territorially. I paused to let Jess and Angela pass me. I didn't want to hear any more. 

 

That night at dinner, Charlie seemed enthusiastic about my trip to La Push in the morning. I think he felt guilty for leaving me home alone on the weekend, but he'd spent too many years building his habits to break them now. Of course he knew the names fo all the kids going, and their parents, and their great-grandparents, too, probably. He seemed to approve. I wondered if he would approve of my plan to ride to Seattle with Edythe Cullen. Not that I was going to tell him. 

"Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I think its south of Mount Rainier," I asked casually.

"Yeah--why?"

I shrugged. "Some kids were talking about camping there."

"It's not a very good place for camping." He sounded surprised. "Too many bears. Most people go there during the hunting season."

"Oh," I murmured. "Maybe I got the name wrong." But I didn't think I had. 

 

I meant to sleep in, but an unusual brightness woke me. I opened my eyes to see a clear yellow light streaming through my window. I couldn't believe it. I hurried to the window to check, and sure enough, there was the sun. It was in the wrong place in the sky, too low, and it didn't seem to be as close as it should be, but it was definitely the sun. Clouds ringed the horizon, but a large patch of blue was visible in the middle. I lingered by the window as long as I could, afraid that if I left the blue would disappear again. 

The Newton's Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. I'd seen the store, but I'd never stopped there-- not having much need for any supplies required for being outdoors over an extended period of time. In the parking lot I recognized Mike's Suburban and Taylor's Sentra. As I pulled up next to their vehicles, I could see the group standing around in front of the Suburban. Eric was there, along with two other boys I had class with; I was fairly sure their names were Ben and Conner. Jess was there, flanked by Angela and Lauren. Three other girls stood with them, including one I remembered falling over in Gym on Friday. That one gave me a dirty look as I got out of the truck, and whispered something to Lauren. Lauren shook out her cornsilk hair and eyed me scornfully. 

So it was going to be one of _those_ days. 

At least Mike Wass happy to see me. 

"You came!" he called, delighted. "And I said it would be sunny today, didn't I?"

"I told you I was coming," I reminded him. 

"We're just waiting for Lee and Samantha. . . unless you invited someone," Mike added.

"Nope," I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn't get caught in the lie. But also wishing that a miracle would occur, and Edythe would appear. 

Mike looked satisfied.

"Will you ride in my car? It's either that or Lee's mom's minivan." 

"Sure."

He smiled blissfully. It was so easy to make Mike happy.

"You can have shotgun," he promised. I hid my chagrin. It wasn't as simple to make Mike and Jessica happy at the same time. I could see Jessica looking over at Mike hopefully now.

The numbers worked out in my favor, though. Lee brought two extra people, and suddenly every seat was necessary. I managed to wedge Jess in Between Mike and me in the front seat of the Suburban. Mike could have been more graceful about it, but at least Jess seemed appeased.

It was only fifteen miles to La Push from Forks, with gorgeous, dense green forests edging the road most of the way and the wide Quillayute River snaking beneath it twice. I was glad I had the window seat. We'd rolled the windows down-- the Suburban was a bit claustrophobic with nine people in it-- and I tried to absorb as much sunlight as possible.

I'd been to the beaches around La Push many times during my Forks summers with Charlie, so the mile-long crescent of First Beach was familiar to me. It was still breathtaking. The water was dark gray, even in the sunlight, white-capped and heaving to the gray, rocky shore. Islands rose out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff side, reaching to uneven summits, and crowned with austere, soaring firs. The beach had only a thin border of actual sand at the water's edge, after which it grew into millions of large, smooth stones that looked uniformly gray from a distance, but close up were every shade a stone could be: terra-cotta, sea green, lavender, blue gray, dull gold. The tide line was strewn with huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves, some piled together against the edge of the forest fringe, some lying solitary, just out of reach of the waves. 

There was a brisk wind coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans floated on the swells while seagulls and a lone eagle wheeled above them. the clouds still circled the sky, threatening to invade at any moment, but for now the sun shone bravely in its halo of blue sky. 

We picked our way down to the beach, Mike leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs that had obviously been used for parties like ours before. There was a fire circle already in place, filled with black ashes. Eric and the boy I thought was named Ben gathered broken branches of driftwood from the drier piles against the forest edge, and soon had a teepee-shaped construction built atop the old cinders. 

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Mike asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone-colored benches; the other girls clustered, gossiping excitedly, on either side of me. Mike kneeled by the fire, lighting one of the smaller sticks with a cigarette lighter. 

"No," I said as he placed the blazing twig carefully against the teepee.

"You'll like this then-- watch the colors." He lit another small branch and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up the dry wood. 

"It's blue," I said in surprise.

"The salt Does it. Pretty, isn't it?" He lit one more piece, placed it where the fire hadn't yet caught, and then came to sit by me. Thankfully, Jess was on his other side. She turned to him and claimed his attention. I watched the strange blue and green flames crackle toward the sky. 

After a half hour of chatter, some of the boys wanted to like to the nearby tidal pools. It was a dilemma. On the one hand, I loved tide pools. They had fascinated me since I was a child; they were one of the only things I ever looked forward to when I had to come to Forks. On the other hand, I'd also fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you're seven and with your dad. It reminded me of Edythe's request-- that I not fall into the ocean. 

Lauren was the one who made my decision for me. She didn't want to like, and she was definitely wearing the wrong shoes for it. Most of the other girls besides Angela and Jessica decided to stay on the beach as well. I waited until Taylor and Eric had committed to remaining with them before I got up quietly to join the pro-hiking group. Mike gave me a huge smile when he saw that I was coming. 

The hike wasn't too long, though I hated to lose the sky in the woods. The green light of the forest was strangely at odds with the adolescent laughter, too murky and ominous to be in harmony with the light banter around me. I had to watch each step I took carefully, avoiding roots below and branches above, and I soon fell behind. Eventually I broke through the emerald confines of the forest and found the rocky shore again, It was low tide, and a tidal river flawed past us on its way to the sea. Along its peeved banks, shallow pools that never completely drained were teeming with life. 

I was very cautious not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The others were fearless, leaping over the rocks, perching precariously on the edges. I found a very stable-looking rock on the fringe of one of the largest pools and sat there cautiously, spellbound by the natural aquarium below me. The bouquets of brilliant anemones ululated ceaselessly in the invisible current, twisted shells scurried about the edges, obscuring the crabs within them, starfish stuck motionless to the rocks and each other, while one small black eel with white racing stripes wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return. I was completely absorbed, except for one small part of my mind that wondered what Edythe was doing now, and trying to imagine what she would be saying if she were here with me.

Finally the boys were hungry, and I got up stiffly to follow them back. I tried to keep up better this time through the woods, so naturally I fell a few times. I got some shallow scrapes on my palms, and the knees of my jeans were stained green, but it could have been worse.

When we got back to First Beach, the group we'd left behind had multiplied. As we got closer we could see the shining, straight black hair and copper skin of the newcomers, teenagers from the reservation come to socialize. The food was already being passed around, and everybody hurried to claim a share while Eric introduced us as we each entered the driftwood circle. Angela and I were the last to arrive, and, as Eric said our names, I noticed a younger girl sitting on the ground near the fire look up at me with interest. I sat down next to Angela, and Mike brought us sandwiches and an array of sodas to choose from, while a boy who looked to be the oldest of the visitors rattled off the names of the seven others with him. All I caught was that one of the girls was also Jessica, and the girl who noticed me was named Julie. 

It was relaxing to sit with Angela; she was a restful kind of person to be around-- she didn't feel the need to fill every silence with chatter. She left me free to think undisturbed while we ate. And I was thinking about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference, and it disturbed me. 

During lunch the clouds started to advance, slinking across the blue sky, darting in front of the sun momentarily, casting long shadows across the beach, and blackening the waves. As they finished eating, people started to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface. Others were gathering a second expedition to the tide pools. Mike--with Jessica shadowing him--headed up to the one shop in the village. Some of the local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, with Lauren and Taylor occupying themselves by the CD player someone had thought to bring, and three teenagers from the reservation perched around the circle, including the girl named Julie and the oldest boy who had acted as spokesperson. 

A few minutes after Angela left with the hikers, Julie sauntered over to take her place by my side. She looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of her neck. Her skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; her eyes were dark, set evenly above the high planes of her cheekbones, and her lips were curved like a bow. She still had just a hint of childish rounds left around her cheeks. Altogether, a very pretty face. However, my positive opinion of her looks was damaged by the first words out of her mouth. 

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?"

It was like the first day of school all over again.

"Bella," I sighed.

"Right," she said, like she'd already known that. "I'm Julie Black." She held out her hand. "You bought my dad's truck." 

"Oh," I said relieved, shaking her sleek hand. "You're Billy's daughter. I probably should remember you." 

"No, I'm the youngest of the family-- you would remember my older sisters."

"Rachel and Rebecca," I suddenly recalled. Charlie and Billy had thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We were all too shy to make much progress as friends. Of course, I'd kicked up enough tantrums to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven

"Are they here?" I examined the girls at the ocean's edge, wondering if I would recognize them now. 

"No," Julie shook her head. "Rachel got a scholarship to Washington State, and Rebecca married a Samoan surfer-- she lives in Hawaii now."

"Married. Wow." I was stunned. The twins were only a little over a year older than I was. 

"So how do you like the truck?" She asked.

"I love it. It runs great."

"Yeah, but it's really slow," she laughed. "I was so relieved when Charlie bought it. My dad wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"It's not that slow," I objected. 

"Have you tried to go over sixty?" 

"No," I admitted

"Good. Don't." She grinned.

I couldn't help grinning back. "It does great in a collision," I offered in my truck's defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," she agreed with another laugh.

"So you build cars?" I asked, impressed.

"When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" she asked jokingly. She had a pleasant, husky voice.

"Sorry," I laughed, "I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you." As if I knew what that was. She was very easy to talk with.

She flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me appreciatively in a way I was learning to recognize. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"You know Bella, Julie?" Lauren asked-- in what I imagined was an insolent tone-- from across the fire. 

"We've sort of known each other since I was born," she laughed, smiling at me again.

"How nice." She didn't sound like she thought it was nice at all, and her pale, fishy eyes narrowed. 

"Bella," she called again, watching my face carefully, "I was just saying to Taylor that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today. Didn't anyone think to invite them?" Her expression of concern was unconvincing. 

"You mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen's family?" the tall, older boy asked before I could respond, much to Lauren's irritation. He was really closer to a man than a boy, and his voice was very deep.

"Yes, do you know them?" she asked condescendingly, turning halfway toward him. 

"The Cullens don't come here," he said in a tone that closed the subject, ignoring her question.

Taylor, trying to win back her attention, asked Lauren's opinion on a CD she held. She was distracted.

I stared at the deep-voiced boy, taken aback, but he was looking away toward the dark forest behind us. He's said that the Cullens didn't come here, but his tone had implied something more-- that they weren't allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on me, and I tried to ignore it without success.

Julie interrupted my meditation. "So is Forks driving you insane yet?" 

"Oh, I'd say that's an understatement." I grimaced. She grinned understandingly.

I was still turning over the brief comment on the Cullens, and I had a sudden inspiration. It was a stupid plan, but I didn't have any better ideas. I hoped that young Julie was as yet inexperienced around girls, so that she wouldn't see through my sure-to-be-pitiful attempts at flirting.

"Do you want to walk down the beach with me?" I asked, trying to imitate the way Edythe had of looking up from underneath her eyelashes. It wouldn't have nearly the same effect, I was sure, but Julie jumped up willingly enough. 

As we walked north across the multihued stones toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea to darken and the temperature to drop. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. 

"So you're, what, sixteen?" I asked, trying not to look like an idiot as I fluttered my eyelids the way I'd seen girls do on TV.

"I just turned fifteen," she confessed, flattered.

"Really?" My face was full of false surprise. "I would have thought you were older."

"I'm tall for my age," she explained.

"Do you come up to Forks much?" I asked archly, as if I was hoping for a yes. I sounded idiotic to myself. I was afraid she would turn on me with disgust and accuse me of my fraud, but she still seemed flattered.

"Not too much," she admitted with a frown. "But when I get my car finished I can go up as much as I want--after I get my license," she amended.

"Who was that other boy Lauren was talking to? He seemed a little old to be hanging out with us." I purposefully lumped myself in with the youngsters, trying to make it clear that I preferred Julie. 

"That's Sam-- he's nineteen," she informed me.

"What was that he was saying about the doctor's family?" I asked innocently. 

"The Cullens? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." She looked away, out toward James Island, as she confirmed what I'd thought I'd heard in Sam's voice.

"Why not?"

She glanced back at me, biting her lip. "Oops, I'm not supposed to say anything about that."

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious." I tried to make my smile alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.

She smiled back, though, looking allured. Then she lifted one eyebrow and her voice was even huskier than before.

"Do you like scary stories?" she asked ominously. 

"I _love_ them," I enthused, making an effort to smolder at her. 

Julie strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. She perched lightly on one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath her on the body of the tree. She stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of her lips. I could see she was going to try to make this good, I focused on keeping the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from--the Quileutes, I mean?" she began.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them clapping to date back to the Flood--supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." She smiled, to show me how little stick she put in the histories. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves--and that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.

"Then there are the stories about the _cold ones._ " Her voice dropped a little lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." She rolled her eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged. 

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf--well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at her earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration. 

"So you see," Julie continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did-- they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. IF they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." She winked at me. 

"If they weren't dangerous, then why. . . ?" I tried to understand, struggling not to let her see how seriously I was considering her ghost story. 

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." She deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into her tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how Dows it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandfather met?"

"No," she paused dramatically, "They're the _same_ ones."

She must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by her story. She smiled, pleased, and continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Carlisle. He'd been here and gone before _your_ people had even arrived." She was fighting a smile. 

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What _are_ the cold ones?"

She smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," she replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them vampires."

I stared out at the rough surf after she answered, not sure what my face was exposing. 

"You have goose bumps," she laughed delightedly.

"You're a good storyteller," I complimented her, still staring into the waves. 

"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my dad doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone."

I couldn't control my expression enough to look at her yet. "Don't worry, I won't give you away."

"I guess I just violated to treaty," she laughed.

"I'll take it to my grave," I promised, and then I shivered.

"Seriously, though, don't say anything to Charlie. He was pretty mad at my dad when he heard that some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Cullen started working there."

"I won't, of course not."

"So do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" she asked in a playful tone, but with a hint of worry. I still hadn't looked away from the ocean.

I turned and smiled at her as normally as I could.

"No, I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goose bumps, see?" I held up my arm.

"Cool." She smiled.

And then the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other warned us that someone was approaching. Our heads snapped up at the same time to see Mike and Jessica about fifty yards away, walking toward us. 

"There you are, Bella," Mike called in relief, waving his arms over his head.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Julie asked, alerted by the jealous edge in Mike's voice. I was surprised it was so obvious.

"No, definitely not," I whispered. I was so tremendously grateful to Julie, and eager to make her as happy as possible. I winked at her, carefully turning away from Mike to do so. She smiled, elated by my inept flirting. 

"So when I get my license. . ." she began.

"You should come see me in Forks. We could hang out sometime." I felt guilty as I said this, knowing that I'd used her. But I really did like Julie. She was someone I could easily be friends with.

Mike had reached us now, with Jessica still a few paces back. I could see his eyes appraising Julie, and looking satisfied at her obvious youth. It confused me, he obviously knows I was into girls if he was jealous, why does he think he still has a chance? 

"Where have you been?" he asked, though the answer was right in front of him. 

"Jacob was just telling me some local stories," I volunteered. "It was really interesting." 

I smiled at Julie warmly, and she grinned back.

"Well," Mike paused, carefully reassessing the situation as he watched our camaraderie. "We're packing up--it looks like it's going to rain soon."

We all looked up at the glowering sky. It certainly did look like rain.

"Okay," I jumped up. "I'm coming."

"It was nice to see you _again_ ," Julie said, and I could tell she was taunting Mike just a little bit.

"It really was. Next time Charlie comes down to see Billy, I'll come, too," I promised.

Her grin stretched across her face. "That would be cool."

"And thanks," I added earnestly. 

I pulled up my hood as we tramped across the rocks toward the parking lot. A few drops were beginning to fall, making black spots on the stones where they landed. When we got to the Suburban the others were already loading everything back in. I crawled into the backseat by Angela and Taylor, announcing that I'd already had my turn in the shotgun position. Angela just stared out the window at the escalating storm, and Lauren twisted around in the middle seat to occupy Taylor's attention, so I could simply lay my head back on the seat and close my eyes and try very hard not to think.


	8. Nightmare

I told Charlie I had a lot of homework to do, and that I didn't want anything to eat. There was a basketball game of that he was excited about, though of course _I_ had no idea what was special about it, so he wasn't aware of anything unusual in my face or my tone. 

Once in my room, I locked the door. I dug through my desk until I found my old headphones, and I plugged them into my little CD player. I picked up a CD that Phil had given to me for Christmas. It was one of his favorite bands, but they used a little too much bass and shrieking for my tastes. I popped it into place and lay down on my bed. I put on the headphones, hit Play, and turned up the volume until it hurt my ears. I closed my eyes, but the light still intruded, so I added a pillow over the top half of my face. 

I concentrated very carefully on the music, trying to understand the lyrics, to unravel the complicated drum patterns. By the third time I'd listened through the CD, I knew all the words to the choruses, at least. I was surprised to find that I really did like the band after all, once I got past the blaring noise. I'd have to thank Phil again. 

And it worded. The shattering beats made it impossible for me to think-- which was the whole purpose of the exercise. I listened to the CD again and again, until I was singing along with all the songs, until, finally, I fell asleep. 

I opened my eyes to a familiar place. Aware in some corner of my consciousness that I was dreaming, I recognized the green light of the forest. I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks somewhere nearby. And I knew that if I found the ocean, I'd be able to see the sun. I was trying to follow the sound, but then Julie Black was there, tugging on my hand, pulling me back toward the blackest part of the forest.

"Julie? What's wrong?" I asked. her face was frightened as she yanked with all her strength against my resistance; I didn't want to go into the dark.

"Run, Bella, you have to run!" she whispered, terrified.

"This way, Bella!" I recognized Mike's voice calling out of the gloomy heart of the trees, but I couldn't see him.

"Why?" I asked, still pulling against Julie's grasp, desperate now to find the sun.

But Julie let go of my hand and yelped, suddenly shaking, falling to the dim forest floor. She twitched on the ground as I watched in horror.

"Julie!" I screamed. But she was gone. In her place was a large red-brown wolf with black eyes. The wolf faced away from me, pointing toward the shore, the hair on the back of her shoulders bristling, low growls issuing from between her exposed fangs.

"Bella, run!" Mike cried out again from behind me. But I didn't turn. I was watching a light coming toward me from the beach. 

And then Edythe stepped out from the trees, her skin faintly glowing, her eyes black and dangerous. She held up one hand and beckoned me to come to her. The wolf growled at my feet.

I took a step forward, toward Edythe. She smiled then, and her teeth were sharp, pointed.

"Trust me," she purred.

I took another step.

The wolf launched herself across the space between me and the vampire, fangs aiming for the jugular.

"No!" I screamed, wrenching upright out of my bed.

My sudden movement caused the headphones to pull the CD player off the bedside table, and it clattered to the wooden floor.

My light was still on, and I was sitting fully dressed on the bed, with my shoes on. I glanced, disoriented, at the clock on my dresser. It was five-thirty in the morning.

I groaned, fell back, and rolled over onto my face, kicking off my boots. I was too uncomfortable to get anywhere near sleep, though. I rolled back over and unbuttoned my jeans, yanking them off awkwardly as I tried to stay horizontal. I could feel the braid in my hair, an uncomfortable ridge along the back of my skull. I turned onto my side and ripped the rubber band out, quickly combing through the plaits with my fingers. I pulled the pillow back over my eyes. 

It was all no use, of course. My subconscious had dredged up exactly the images I'd been trying so desperately to avoid. I was going to have to face them now. 

I sat up, and my head spun for a minute as the blood flowed downward. First things first, I thought to myself, happy to put it off as long as possible. I grabbed my bathroom bag.

The shower didn't last nearly as long as I hoped it would, though. Even taking the time to blow-dry hair, I was soon out of things to do in the bathroom. Wrapped in a towel, I crossed back to my room. I couldn't tell if Charlie was still asleep, or if he had already left. I went to look out my window, and the cruiser was gone. Fishing again. 

I dressed slowly in my most comfy sweats and then made my bed-- something I never did. I couldn't put it off any longer. I went to my desk and switched on my old computer.

I hated using the internet here. My modern was sadly outdated, my free service substandard; just dialing up took so long that I decided to go get myself a bowl of cereal while I waited. 

I ate slowly, chewing each bite with care. When I was done, I washed the bowl and spoon, dried them, and put them away. My feet dragged as I climbed the stairs. I went to my CD player first, picking it up off the floor and placing it precisely in the center of the table. I pulled out the headphones, and put them away in the desk drawer. Then I turned the same CD on, turning it down to the point where it was background noise. 

With another sigh, I turned to my computer. Naturally, the screen was covered in pop-up ads. I sat in my hard folding chair and began closing all the little windows. Eventually I made it to my favorite search engine. I shot down a few more pop-ups and then typed in one word. 

 _Vampire_. 

It took an infuriatingly long time, of course. When the results came up, there was a lot to sift through-- everything from movies and TV shows to role-playing games, underground metal, and gothic cosmetic companies. 

Then I found a promising site-- Vampires A-Z. I waited impatiently for it to load, quickly clicking closed each ad that flashed across the screen. Finally the screen was finished-- simple white background with black text, academic-looking. Two quotes greeted me on the home page:

_Thought the vast shadowy world of ghosts and demons there is no figure so terrible, no figure so dreaded and abhorred, yet dight with such fearful fascination, as the vampire, who is himself neither ghost nor demon, but yet who partakes the dark natures and possesses the mysterious and terrible qualities of both. -Rev. Montague Summers_

_If there is in this world a well-attested account, it is that of the vampires. Nothing is lacking: official reports, affidavits of well-known people, of surgeons, of priests, of magistrates; the judicial proof is most complete. And with that, who is there who believes in vampires? -Rousseau_

The rest of the site was an alphabetized listing of all the different myths of vampires held throughout the world. The first I clicked on, the _Danag_ , was a Filipino vampire supposedly responsible for planting taro on the islands long ago. The myth continued that the _Danag_ worked with humans for many years, but the partnership ended one day when a women cut her finger and a _Danag_ sucked her wound, enjoying the taste so much that it drained her body completely of blood.

I read carefully though the descriptions, looking for anything that sounded familiar, let alone plausible. It seemed that most vampire myths centered around beautiful women as demons and children as victims; they also seemed like constructs created to explain away the high mortality rates for young children, and to give men an excuse for infidelity. Many of the stories involved bodiless spirits and warnings against improper burials. There wasn't much that sounded like the movies I'd seen, and only a very few, like the Hebrew _Estrie_ and the Polish _Upier_ , who were even preoccupied with drinking blood. 

Only three entries really caught my attention: the Romanian _Varacolaci_ , a powerful undead being who could appear as a beautiful, pale-skinned human, the Slovak _Nelapsi_ , a creature so strong and fast it could massacre an entire village in the single hour after midnight, and one other, the _Stregoni benefici._  

About this last there was only one brief sentence.

_Strengoni benefici: An Italian vampire, said to be on the side of goodness, and a mortal enemy of all evil vampires._

It was a relief, that one small entry, the one myth among hundreds that claimed the existence of good vampires.

Overall, though, there was little that coincided with Julie's stories or my own observations. I'd made a little catalogue in my mind as I'd read and carefully compared it with each myth. Speed, strength, beauty, pale skin, eyes that shift color; and then Julie's criteria: blood drinkers, enemies of the werewolf, cold-skinned, and immortal. There was very few myths that matched even one factor.

And then another problem, one that I'd remembered from the small number of scary movies that I'd seen and was backed up by today's reading-- vampires couldn't come out in the daytime, the sun would burn them to a cinder. They slept in coffins all day and came out only at night. 

Aggravated, I snapped off the computer's main power switch, not waiting to shut things down properly. Through my irritation, I felt overwhelming embarrassment. It was all so stupid.  I was sitting in my room, researching vampires. What was wrong with me? I decided that most of the blame belonged on the doorstep of the town of Forks-- and the entire sodden Olympic Peninsula, for that matter. 

I had to get out of the house, but there was nowhere I wanted to go that didn't involve a three-day drive. I pulled on my boots anyway, unclear where I was headed, and went downstairs. I shrugged into my raincoat without checking the weather and stomped out the door. 

It was overcast, but not raining yet. I ignored my truck and started east on foot, angling across Charlie's yard toward the ever-encroaching forest. It didn't take long till I was deep enough for the house and the road to be invisible, for the only sound to be the squish of the damp earth under my feet and the sudden cried of the jays.

There was a thin ribbon of a trail that led through the forest here, or I wouldn't risk wandering on my own like this. My sense of direction was hopeless; I could get lost in much less helpful surroundings. The trail wound deeper and deeper into the forest, mostly east as far as I could tell. It snaked around the Sitka spruces and the hemlocks, the yews and the maples. I only vaguely knew the names of the trees around me, and all I knew was due to Charlie pointing them out to me from the cruiser window in earlier days. There were many I didn't know, and others I couldn't be sure about because they were so covered in green parasites. 

I followed the trail as long as my anger at myself pushed me forward. As that started to ebb, I slowed. A few drops of moisture trickled down from the canopy above me, but I couldn't be certain if it was beginning to ran or if it was simply pools left over from yesterday, held high in the leaves above me, slowly dripping their way back to the earth. A recently fallen tree-- I knew it was recent because it wasn't entirely carpeted in moss-- rested against the trunk of one of her sisters, creating a sheltered little bench just a few sage feet off the trail. I stepped over the ferns and sat carefully, making sure my jacket was between the damp seat and my clothes wherever they touched, and leaned my hooded head back against the living tree.

This was the wrong place to have come. I should have known, but where else was there to go? The forest was deep green and far too much like the scene in last night's dream to allow for peace of mind. Now that there was no longer the sound of my soggy footsteps, the silence was piercing. The birds were quiet, too, the drops increasing in frequency, so it must be raining above. The ferns stood higher than my head, now that I was seated, and I knew someone could walk by on the path, three feet away, and not see me.

Here in the trees it was much easier to believe the absurdities that embarrassed me indoors. Nothing had changed in this forest for thousands of years, and all the myths and legends of a hundred different lands seemed much more likely in this green haze than they had in my clear-cut bedroom. 

I forced myself to focus on the two most vital questions I had to answer, but I did so unwillingly. 

First, I had to decide if it was possible that what Julie had said about the Cullens could be true. 

Immediately my mind responded with a resounding negative. It was silly and morbid to entertain such ridiculous notions, But what, then? I asked myself. There was no rational explanation for how I was alive at this moment. I listed again in my head the things I'd observed myself: the impossible speed and strength, the eye color shifting from black to gold and back again, the inhuman beauty, the pale, frigid skin. And more-- small things that registered slowly-- how they never seemed to eat, the disturbing grace with which they moved. And the way _she_ sometimes spoke, with unfamiliar cadences and phrases that better fit the style fo a turn-of-the-century novel than that of a twenty-first-century classroom. She had skipped class the day we'd done blood typing. She hadn't said no to the beach trip till she heard where we were going. She seemed to know what everyone around her was thinking. . . except me. She had told me she was the villain, dangerous. . . 

Could the Cullens be vampires?

Well, they were _something_. Something outside the possibility of rational justification was taking place in front of my incredulous eyes. Whether it be Julie's _cold ones_ or my own superhero theory, Edythe Cullen was not. . . human. She was something more. 

So then-- maybe. That would have to be my answer for now. 

And then the most important question of all. What was I going to do if it was true?

 _If_ Edythe was a vampire-- I could hardly make myself think the words-- then what should I do? Involving someone else was definitely out. I couldn't even believe myself; anyone I told would have me committed. 

Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take her advice: to be smart, to avoid her as much as possible. To cancel our plans, to go back to ignoring her as far as I was able. To pretend there was an impenetrably thick glass wall between us in the one class where we were forced together. To tell her to leave me alone-- and mean it this time. 

I was gripped in a sudden agony of despair as I considered that alternative. My mind rejected the pain, quickly skipping on to the next option.

I could do nothing different. After all, if she was something. . . sinister, she'd done nothing to hurt me so far. In fact, I would be a dent in Taylor's fender if she hadn't acted so quickly. So quickly, I argued with myself, that it might have been sheer reflexes. But if it was a reflex to save lives, how bad could she be? I retorted. My head spun around in answerless circles. 

There was one thing I was sure of, if I was sure of anything. The dark Edythe in my dream last night was a reflection only of my fear of the word Julie had spoken, and not Edythe herself. Even so, when I'd screamed out in terror at the werewolf's lunge, it wasn't fear for the wolf that brought the cry of "no" to my lips. It was fear that _she_ would be harmed-- even as she called to me with sharp-edged fangs, I feared for _her_.

And I knew in that I had my answer. I didn't know if there ever was a choice, really. I was already in too deep. Now that I knew-- _if_ I knew-- I could do nothing about my frightening secret. Because when I thought of her, of her voice, her hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of her personality, I couldn't think it. Not here, alone in the darkening forest. Not while the rain made it dim as twilight under the canopy and patterned like footsteps across the matted earthen floor. I shivered and rose quickly from my place of concealment, worried that somehow the path would have disappeared with the rain. 

But it was there, safe and clear, winding its way out of the dripping green maze. I followed it hastily, my hood pulled close around my face, becoming surprised, as I nearly ran through the trees, at how far I had come. I started to wonder if I was heading out at all, or following the path farther into the confines of the forest. Before I could get too panicky, though, I began to glimpse some open spaces through the webbed beaches. And then I could hear a car passing on the street, and I was free, Charlie's lawn stretched out in front of me, the house beckoning me, promising warmth and dry socks.

It was just noon when I got back inside. I went upstairs and got dressed for the day, jeans and a t-shirt, since I was staying indoors. It didn't take too much effort to concentrate on my task for the day, a paper on _Macbeth_ that was due Wednesday. I settled into outlining a rough draft contentedly, more serene than I'd felt since. . . well, since Thursday afternoon, if I was being honest. 

That had always been my way, though. Making decisions was the painful part for me, the part I agonized over. But once the decision was made, I simply followed through--usually with relief that the choice was made. Sometimes the relief was tainted by despair, like my decision to come to Forks. But it was still better than wrestling with the alternative.

This decision was ridiculously easy to live with. Dangerously easy. 

And so the day was quiet, productive--I finished my paper before eight. Charlie came home with a large catch, and I made a mental note to pick up a book of recipes for fish while I was in Seattle next week. The chills that flashed up my spine whenever I thought of that trip were no different than the ones I'd felt before I'd taken my walk with Julie Black. They should be different, I thought. I should be afraid--I knew I should be, but I couldn't feel the right kind of fear. 

I slept dreamlessly that night, exhausted from beginning my day so early, and sleeping so poorly the night before. I woke, for the second time since arriving in Forks, to the bright yellow light of a sunny day. I skipped to the window, stunned to see that there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and those there were just fleecy little white puffs that couldn't possibly be carrying any rain. I opened the window-- surprised when it opened silently, without sticking, not having opened it in who knows how many years-- and sucked in the relatively dry air. It was nearly warm and hardly windy at all. My blood was electric in my veins. 

Charlie was finishing breakfast when I came downstairs, and he picked up on my mood immediately. 

"Nice day out," he commented.

"Yes," I agreed with a grin.

He smiled back, his brown eyes crinkling around the edges. When Charlie smiled, it was easier to see why he and my mother had jumped too quickly into an early marriage. Most of the young romantic he'd been in those days had faded before I'd known him, as the curly brown hair--the same color, if not the same texture, as mine--had dwindled, slowly revealing more and more of the shiny skin of his forehead. But when he smiled I could see a little of the man who had run away with Renée when she was just two years older than I was now. 

I ate breakfast cheerily, watching the dust motes stirring in the sunlight that streamed in the back window. Charlie called out a goodbye, and I heard the cruiser pull away from the house. I hesitated on my way out the door, hand on my rain jacket. It would be tempting fate to leave it at home. With a sigh, I folded it over my arm and stepped out into the brightest light I'd seen in months. 

By didn't of much elbow grease, I was able to get both windows in the truck almost completely rolled down. I was one of the first ones to school; I hadn't even checked to clock in my hurry to get outside. I parked and headed toward the seldom-used picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria. The benches were still a little damp, so I sat on my jacket, glad to have a use for it. My homework was down--the product of a slow social life--but there were a few Trig problems I wasn't sure I had right. I took out my book industriously, but halfway through rechecking the first problem I was day-dreaming, watching the sunlight play on the red-barked trees. I sketched inattentively along the margins of my homework. After a few minutes, I suddenly realized I'd drawn five Pais of dark eyes staring out of the page at me. I scrubbed them out with the eraser.

"Bella!" I heard someone call, and it sounded like Mike. I looked around to realize that the school had become populated while I'd been sitting there, absentminded. Everyone was in t-shirts, some even in shorts though the temperature couldn't be over sixty. Mike was coming toward me in khaki shorts and a striped Rugby shirt, waving.

"Hey, Mike," I called, waving back, unable to be halfhearted on a morning like this. 

He came to sit by me, the tidy spikes of his hair shining holden in the light, his grin stretching across his face. He was so delighted to see me, I couldn't help but feel gratified. 

"I never noticed before--your hair has red in it," he commented, catching between his fingers a strand that was fluttering in the light breeze.

"Only in the sun."

I became just a little uncomfortable as he tucked the lock behind my ear.

"Great day, isn't it?"

"My kind of day," I agreed.

"What did you do yesterday?" His tone was just a bit too proprietary.

"I mostly worked on my essay." I didn't add that I was finished with it--no need to sound smug.

He hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Oh yeah--that's due Thursday, right?"

"Um, Wednesday, I think."

"Wednesday?" He frowned. "That's not good. . . . What are you writing yours on?"

"Whether Shakespeare's treatment of the female characters is misogynistic."

He stared at me like I'd just spoken in pig Latin.

"I guess I'll have to get to work on that tonight," he said, deflated. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."

"Oh." I was taken off guard. Why couldn't I ever have a pleasant conversation with Mike anymore without it getting awkward?

"Well, we could go to dinner or something. . . and I could work on it later." He smiled at me hopefully.

"Mike. . ." I hated being put on the spot. "I don't think that would be the best idea."

His face fell. "Why?" he asked, his eyes guarded. My thoughts flickered to Edythe, wondering if that's where his thoughts were as well.

"I think. . . that we may have had a miscommunication," I started out slowly, not wanting him to take it to harshly. "I'm not really interested in guys. . . and besides, I think that it would hurt Jessica's feelings."

He was bewildered, obviously not thinking in _that_ direction at all.

"Oh, well I thought you might be interested in girls, but I hoped you might be into guys as well." He looked at me sheepishly, before something else I had said sinked in. "Jessica?"

"Really, Mike, are you _blind_? She is super into you."

"Oh," he exhaled--clearly dazed. I took advantage of that to make my escape.

"It's time for class, and I can't be late again." I gathered my books up and stuffed them into my bag, I looked up to him again, remembering something. "And if you ever repeat what I said to Jessica, I will cheerfully beat you to death," I gave him a mock glare to soften the warning. 

We walked in silence to building three, and his expression was distracted. I hoped whatever thoughts he was immersed in were leading him in the right direction.

When I saw Jessica in Trig, she was bubbling with enthusiasm. She, Angela, and Lauren were going to Port Angeles tonight to go dress shopping for the dance, and she wanted me to come, too, even though I didn't need one. I was indecisive. It would be nice to get out of town with some girlfriends, but Lauren would be there. And who knew what I could be doing tonight. . . . But that was definitely the wrong path to let my mind wander down. Of course I was happy about the sunlight. But that wasn't completely responsible for the euphoric mood I was in, not even close.

So I gave her a maybe, telling her I'd have to talk with Charlie first.

She talked of nothing but the dance on the way to Spanish, continuing as if without an interruption when class finally ended, five minutes late, and we were on out way to lunch. I was far too lost in my own frenzy of anticipation to notice much of what she said. I was painfully eager to see not just her but all the Cullens--to compare them with the new suspicions that plagued my mind. As I crossed the threshold of the cafeteria, I felt the first true tingle of fear slither down my spine and settle in my stomach. Would they be able to know what I was thinking? And then a different feeling jolted through me--would Edythe be waiting to sit with me again?

As was my routine, I glanced first toward the Cullens' table. A shiver of panic trembled in my stomach as I realized it was empty. With dwindling hope, my eyes scoured the rest fo the cafeteria, hoping to find her alone, waiting for me. The place was nearly filled--Spanish had made us late--but there was no sign of Edythe or any of her family. Desolation hit me with crippling strength.

I shambled along behind Jessica, not bothering to pretend to listen anymore. 

We were late enough that everyone was already at our table. I avoided the empty chair next to Mike in favor of one by Angela. I vaguely noticed that Mike held the chair out politely for Jessica, and that her face lit up in response. 

Angela asked a few quiet questions about the _Macbeth_ paper, which I answered as naturally as I could while spiraling downward in misery. She, too, invited me to go with them tonight, and I agreed now, grasping at anything to distract myself. 

I realized I'd been holding on to a last shred of hope when I entered Biology, saw her empty seat, and felt a new wave of disappointment. 

The rest of the day passed slowly, dismally. In Gym, we had a lecture on the rules of badminton, the next torture they had lined up for me. But at least it meant I got to sit and listen instead of stumbling around on the court. the best part was the coach didn't finish, so I got another day off tomorrow. Never mind that the day after they would arm me with a racket before unleashing me on the rest of the class. 

I was glad to leave campus, so I would be free to pout and mope before I went out tonight with Jessica and company. But right after I walked in the door of Charlie's house, Jessica called to cancel our plans. I tried to be happy that Mike had asked her out to dinner--I really was relieved that he finally seemed to be catching on--but my enthusiasm sounded false in my own ears. She rescheduled our shopping trop for tomorrow night.

Which left me with little in the way of distractions. I had fish marinating for dinner, with a salad and bread left over from the night before, so there was nothing to do there. I spent a focused half hour on homework, but then I was through with that, too. I checked my e-mail, reading the backlog of letters from my mother, getting snippier as they progressed to the present. I sighed and typed a quick response. 

**Mom,**

**Sorry. I've been out. I went to the beach with some friends. And I had to write a paper.**

My excuses were fairly pathetic, so I gave up on that.

**It's sunny outside today--I know, I'm shocked, too--so I'm going to go outside and soak up as much vitamin D as I can. I love you,**

**Bella**.

I decided to kill an hour with non-school-related reading. I had a small collection of books that came with me to Forks, the shabbiest volume being a compilation of the works of Jane Austen. I selected that one and headed to the backyard, grabbing a ragged old quilt from the linen cupboard at the top of the stairs on my way down.

Outside in Charlie's small, square yard, I folded the quilt in half and laid it out of the reach of the trees' shadows on the thick lawn that would always be slightly wet, no matter how long the sun shone. I lay on my stomach, crossing my ankles in the air, flipping through the different novels in the book, trying to decide which would occupy in my mind the most thoroughly. My favorites were _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Sense and Sensibility._  I'd read the first most recently, so I started into _Sense and Sensibility,_ only to remember after I began chapter three that the hero of the story happened to be named _Edward_. Which was just to close to Edythe than I wanted. Angrily, I turned to _Mansfield Park_ , but the hero of that piece was named Edmund, and that was the last straw. Weren't there any other names available in the late eighteenth century? Why did they all have to start with the letter E? I snapped the book shut, annoyed, and rolled over onto my back. I pushed my sleeves up as high as they would go, and closed my eyes. I would think of nothing but the warmth on my skin, I told myself severely. The breeze was still light, but it blew tendrils of my hair around my face, and that tickled a bit. I pulled all my hair over my head, letting it fan out on the quilt above me, and focused again on the heat that touched my eyelids, my cheekbones, my nose, my lips, my forearms, my neck, soaked through my light shirt. . . . 

The next thing I was conscious of was the sound of Charlie's cruiser turning onto the bricks of the driveway. I sat up in surprise, realizing the light was gone, behind the trees, and I had fallen asleep. I looked around, muddled, with the sudden feeling that I wasn't alone.

"Charlie?" I asked. But I could hear his door slamming in front of the house. 

I jumped up, foolishly edgy, gathering the now-damp quilt and my book. I ran inside to get some oil heating on the stove, realizing that dinner would be late. Charlie was hanging up his gun belt and stepping out of his boots when I came in.

"Sorry, Dad, dinner's not ready yet--I fell asleep outside." I stifled a yawn. 

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I wanted to catch the score on the game, anyway."

I watched TV with Charlie after dinner, for something to do. There wasn't anything on I wanted to watch, but he knew I didn't like baseball, so he turned it to some mindless sitcom that neither of us enjoyed. He seemed happy, though, to be doing something together. And it felt good, despite my depression, to make him happy.

"Dad," I said during a commercial, "Jessica and Angela are going to look at dresses for the dance tomorrow night in Port Angeles, and they wanted me to help them choose. . . do you mind if I go with them?"

"Jessica Stanley?" he asked.

"And Angela Webber." I sighed as I gave him the details.

He was confused. "But you're not going to the dance, right?"

"No, Dad, but I'm helping _them_ find dresses--you know, giving them constructive criticism." I wouldn't have to explain this to a woman.

"Well, okay." He seemed to realize that he was out of his depth with the girlie stuff. "It's a school night, though."

"We'll leave tight after school, so we can get back early. You'll be okay for dinner, right?"

"Bells, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here," he reminded me.

"I don't know how you survived," I muttered, then added more clearly, "I'll leave some things for cold-cut sandwiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top."

 

It was sunny again in the morning. I awakened with renewed hope that I grimly tried to suppress. I dressed for the warmer weather in a deep blue V-neck blouse--something I'd worn in the dead of winter in Phoenix.

I had planned my arrival at school so that I barely had time to make it to class. With a sinking heart, I circled the full lot looking for a space, while also searching for the silver Volvo that was clearly not there. I parked in the last row and hurried to English, arriving breathless, but subdued, before the final bell. 

It was the same as yesterday--I just couldn't keep little sprouts of hope from budding in my mind, only to have them squashed painfully as I searched the lunchroom in vain and sat at my empty Biology table. 

The Port Angeles scheme was back on again for tonight and made all the more attractive by the fact that Lauren had other obligations. I was anxious to get out of town so I could stop glancing over my shoulder, hoping to see her appearing out of the blue the way she always did. I vowed to myself that I would be in a good mood tonight and not ruin Angela's or Jessica's enjoyment in the dress hunting. Maybe I could do a little clothes shopping as well. I refused to think that I might be shopping alone in Seattle this weekend, no longer interested in the earlier arrangement. Surely she wouldn't cancel without at least telling me.

After school, Jessica followed me home in her old white Mercury so that I could ditch my books and truck. I brushed through my hair quickly when I was inside, feeling a light lift of excitement as I contemplated getting out of Forks. I left a note for Charlie on the table, explaining again where to find dinner, switched my scruffy wallet from my school bag to a purse I rarely used, and ran out to join Jessica. We went to Angela's house next, and she was waiting for us. My excitement increased exponentially as we actually drove out of the town limits. 

 


	9. Port Angeles

Jess drove faster than the chief, so we made it to Port Angeles by four. It had been a while since I'd had a girls' night out, and the estrogen rush was invigorating. We listened to  whiny rock songs while Jessica jabbered on about the boys we hung out with. Jessica's dinner with Mike had gone very well, and she was hoping that by Saturday night they would have progressed to the first-kiss stage. I smiled to myself, pleased. Angela was passively happy to be going to the dance, but not really interested in Eric. Jess tried to get her to confess who her type was, but I interrupted with a question about dresses after a bit, to spare her. Angela threw a grateful glance my way. 

Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished and quaint than Forks. But Jessica and Angela knew it well, so they didn't plan to waste time on the picturesque boardwalk by the bay. Jess drove straight to the one big department store in town, which was a few streets in from the bay area's visitor-friendly-face.

The dance was billed as semiformal, and we weren't exactly sure what that meant. Both Jessica and Angela seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when I told them I'd never been to a dance in Phoenix.

"Didn't you ever go with a girlfriend or something?" Jess asked dubiously as we walked through the front doors of the store.

"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems. "I've never even had a girlfriend or anything close. I didn't go out much."

"Why not?" Jessica demanded.

"No one asked me," I answered honestly.

She looked skeptical. "People ask you out here," she reminded me, "and you tell them no." We were in the juniors' section now, scanning the racks for dress-up clothes.

"Well, except for Taylor," Angela amended quietly.

"Excuse me?" I gasped. "What did you say?"

"Taylor told everyone she's taking you to prom," Jessica informed me with suspicious eyes.

"She said _what_?" I sounded like I was choking.

"I told you it wasn't true," Angela murmured to Jessica.

I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But we had found the dress racks, and now we had work to do. 

"That's why Lauren doesn't like you," Jessica giggled while we pawed through the clothes. "She's had a crush on Taylor since they were kids."

I ground my teeth. "Do you think that if I ran her over with my truck she would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That she might give up on making amends and call it even?"

"Maybe," Jess snickered. " _If_ that's why she's doing this."

The dress selection wasn't large, but both of them found a few things to try on. I sat on a low chair just inside the dressing room, by the three-way mirror, trying to control my fuming.

Jess was torn between two--one a long, strapless, basic black number, the other a knee-length electric blue with spaghetti straps. I encouraged her to go with the blue; why not play up the eyes? Angela chose a pale pink dress that draped around her tall frame nicely and brought out honey tints in her light brown hair. I complimented them both generously and helped by returning the rejects to their racks. The whole process was much shorter and easier than similar trips I'd take with Renée at home. I guess there was something to be said for limited choices.

We headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I merely watched and critiqued, not in the mood to shop for myself, though I did need new shoes. The girls'-night high was wearing off in the wake of my annoyance at Taylor, leaving room for the gloom to move back in.

"Angela?" I began, hesitant, while she was trying on a pair of pink strappy heels--she was overjoyed to have a date tall enough that she could wear high heels at all. Jessica had drifted to the jewelry counter and we were alone. 

"Yes?" She held her leg out, twisting her ankle to get a better view of the show.

I chickened out. "I like those."

"I think I'll get them--though they'll never match anything but the one dress," she mused.

"Oh, go ahead--they're on sale," I encouraged. She smiled, putting the lid back on a box that contained more practical-looking off-white shoes.

I tried again, "Um, Angela. . ." She looked up curiously.

"Is it normal for the. . . Cullens"--I kept my eyes on the shoes--"to be out of school a lot?" I failed miserably in my attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking all the time--even the doctor. They're all real outdoorsy," she told me quietly, examining her shoes too. She didn't ask one question, let alone the hundreds that Jessica would have unleashed. I was beginning to really like Angela.

"Oh." I let the subject drop as Jessica returned to show us the rhinestone jewelry she'd found to match her silver shoes.  

We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as longs we'd expected. Jess and Angela were going to take their clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour--I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun--they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books; it was something I preferred to do alone. They walked off to the car chattering happily, and I headed in the direction Jess pointed out. 

I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn't what I was looking for. The windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books about spiritual healing. I didn't even go inside. Through the glass I could see a fifty-year old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomely from behind the counter. I decided that was one conversation I could skip. There had to be a normal bookstore in town. 

I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-the-workday traffic, and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should to where I was going; I was wresting with despair. I was trying so hard not to think about her, and what Angela had said. . . and more than anything trying to beat down my hopes for Saturday, fearing a disappointment more painful than the rest, when I looked up to see someone's silver Volvo parked along the street  and it all came crashing down on me. Stupid, unreliable vampire, I thought to myself. 

I stomped along in a southerly direction, toward some glass-fronted shops that looked promising. But when I got to them, they were just a repair shop and a vacant space. I still had too much time to go back looking for Jess and Angela yet, and I definitely needed to get my mood in hand before I met back up with them. I ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times and took some deep breaths before I continued around the corner. 

I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going the wrong direction. The little foot traffic I had seen was going north, and it looked like the buildings here were mostly warehouses. I decided to turn east at the next corner, and then loop around after a few blocks and try my luck on a different street only way back to the boardwalk.

A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for, dressed too casually to be heading home from the office, but they were too grimy to be tourists. As they approached me, I realized they weren't too many years older than I was. They were joking loudly among themselves, laughing raucously and punching each others arms. I scooted as far to the inside of the sidewalk as I could to give them room. walking swiftly, looking past them to the corner. 

"Hey, there!" one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to me since no one else was around. I glanced up automatically. Two of them had paused, the other two were slowing. The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. He took half a step toward me.

"Hello," I mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I quickly looked away and walked faster toward the corner. I could hear them laughing at full volume behind me.

"Hey, wait!" one of them called after me again, but I kept my head down and rounded the corner with a sigh of relief. I could still hear them chortling behind me.

I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. I'd wandered far past the part of Port Angeles that I, as a guest, was intended to see. It was getting dark, I realized, the clouds finally returning, piling up on the western horizon, creating an early sunset. The eastern sky was still clear, but graying, shot through with streaks of pink and orange. I'd left my jacket in the car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my chest. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty. 

The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as I looked over my shoulder to glare at the offending cloud, I realized with a shock that two men were walking quietly twenty feet behind me.

They were from the same group I'd passed at the corner, though neither was the dark one who'd spoken to me. I turned my head forward at once, quickening my pace. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather made me shiver again. My purse was on a shoulder strap and I had it slung across my body, the way you were supposed to wear it so it wouldn't get snatched. I knew exactly where my pepper spray was--still in my duffel bag under the bed, never unpacked. I didn't have much money with me, just a twenty and some ones, and thought about "accidentally" dropping my bag and walking away. But a small, frightened voice in the back of my mind warned me that they might be something worse than thieves.

I listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet when compared to the boisterous noise they'd been making earlier, and it didn't sound like they were speeding up, or getting any closer to me. Breathe, I had to remind myself. You don't know they're following you. I continued to walk as quickly as I could without actually running, focusing on the right-hand turn that was only a few yard away from me now. I could hear them, staying as far back as they'd been before. A blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove quickly past me. I thought of jumping out in front of it, but I hesitated, inhibited, unsure that I was really being pursued, and then it was too late. 

I reached the corner, but a swift glance revealed that it was a only a blind drive to the back of another building. I was half-turned in anticipation; I had to hurriedly correct and dash across the narrow drive, back to the sidewalk. The street ended at the next corner, where there was a stop sign. I concentrated on the faint footsteps behind me, deciding whether or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, and I knew they could outrun me in any case. I was sure to trip and go sprawling if I tried to go any faster. They footfalls were definitely farther back. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and they were maybe forty feet back now, I saw with relief. But they were both staring at me. 

It seemed to take forever for me to get to the corner. I kept my pace steady, the men behind me falling ever so slightly farther behind with every step. Maybe they realized they had scared me and were sorry. I saw two cars going north pass the intersection I was heading for, and I exhaled in relief. There would be more people around once I got off this deserted street. I skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.

And skidded to a stop.

The street was lined on both sides by blank, doorless, windowless walls. I could see in the distance, two intersections down, streetlamp, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all to far away. Because lounging against the western building, midway down the street, were the other two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as I froze dead on the sidewalk. I realized then that I wasn't being followed.

I was being herded.

I paused for only a second, but it felt like a very long time. I turned then and darted to the other side of the road. I had a sinking feeling that it was a wasted attempt. The footsteps behind me were louder now.

"There you are!" The booming voice of the stocky, dark-haired man shattered the intense quiet and made me jump. In the gathering darkness, it seemed like he was looking past me.

"Yeah," a voice called loudly from behind me, making me jump again as I tried to hurry down the street. "We just took a little detour."

My steps started to slow now. I was closing the distance between myself and the lounging pair too quickly. I had a good loud scream, and I sucked in air, preparing to use it, but my throat was so dry I wasn't sure how much volume I could manage. With a quick movement I slipped my purse over my head, gripping the strap with one hand, ready to surrender it or use it as a weapon as need demanded.

The thickset man shrugged away from the wall as I warily came to a stop, and walked slowly into the street.

"Stay away from me," I warned in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and fearless. But I was right about the dry throat--no volume.

"Don't be like that, sugar," he called, and then the raucous laughter started again behind me.

I braced myself, feet apart, trying to remember through my panic what little self-defense I knew. Heel of the hand thrust upward, hopefully breaking the nose or shoving it into the brain. Finger through the eye socket--try to hook around and pop the eye out. And the standard knee to the groin, of course. That same pessimistic voice in my mind spoke up then, reminding me that I probably wouldn't have a chance against one of them, and there were four. Shut up! I commanded the voice before terror could incapacitate me. I wasn't going out without taking someone with me. I tried to swallow so I could build up a decent scream.

Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the stocky one, forcing him to jump back toward the sidewalk. I dove into the road-- _this_ car was going to stop, or have to hit me. But the silver car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet from me.

"Get in," a furious voice commanded.

It was amazing how instantaneously the choking fear vanished, amazing how suddenly the feeling of security washed over me--even before I was off the street--as soon as I heard her voice voice. I jumped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind me.

It was dark in the car, no light had come on with the opening of the door, and I could barely see her face in the glow from the dashboard. The tires squealed as she spun around to face north, accelerating too quickly, swerving toward the stunned men on the street. I caught a glimpse of them diving for the sidewalk as we straightened out and sped toward the harbor. 

"Put on you seatbelt," she commanded, and I realized I was clutching the seat with both hands. I quickly keyed; the snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness. She took a sharp left, racing forward, blowing though several stop signs without a pause. 

But I felt utterly safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned about where we were going. I stared at her face in profound relief, relief that went beyond my sudden deliverance. I studied her flawless features in the limited light, waiting for my breath to return to normal, until I occurred to me that her expression was murderously angry.

"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.

"No," she said curtly, and her tone was livid.

I sat in silence, watching her face while her blazing eyes stared straight ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. We weren't in town anymore.

"Bella?" she asked, her voice tight, controlled.

"Yes?" My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly.

"Are you all right?" She still didn't look at me, but the fury was plain on her face.

"Yes," I croaked softly.

"Distract me, please," she ordered.

"I'm sorry, what?"

She exhaled sharply.

"Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down," she clarified, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"Um." I wracked my brain for something trivial. "I'm going to run over Taylor Crowley tomorrow before school?"

She was still squeezing her eyes closed, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Why?"

"She's telling everyone that she's taking me to prom--either she's insane or she's still trying to make up for almost killing me last. . . well, you remember it, and she thinks _prom_ is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figure if I endanger her life, then we're even, and she can't keep trying to make amends. I don't need enemies and maybe Lauren would back off if she left me alone. I might have to total her Sentra, though. If he doesn't have a ride she can't take anyone to prom. . . ," I babbled on. 

"I heard about that." She sounded a bit more composed.

" _You_ did?" I asked in disbelief, my previous irritation flaring. "If she's paralyzed from the neck down, she can't go to the prom either," I muttered, refining my plan.

Edythe sighed, and finally opened her eyes.

"Better?" 

"Not really."

I waited, but she didn't speak again. She leaned her head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car. Her face was rigid. 

"What's wrong?"

"Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Bella." She was whispering, too, and as she stared out the window, her eyes narrowed into slits. "But it _wouldn't_ be helpful for me to turn around and hunt those. . ." She didn't finish her sentence, looking away, struggling for a moment to control her anger again. "At least," she continued, "that's what I'm trying to convince myself."

"Oh." The word seemed inadequate, but I couldn't think of a better response. I tried to imagine Edythe, with her small frame, taking on those four men. It made me nervous for those men. 

We sat in silence again. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was past six-thirty.

"Jessica and Angela will be worried," I murmured. "I was supposed to meet them."

She started the engine without another word, turning around smoothly and speeding back toward town. We were under the streetlights in no time at all, still going too fast, weaving with ease through the cars slowly cruising the boardwalk. She parallel-parked against the curb in a space I would have thought much to small for the Volvo, but she slid in effortlessly in one try. I looked out the window to see the lights of La Bella Italia, and Jess and Angela leaving, pacing anxiously away from us.

"How did you know where. . . ?" I began, but then I just shook my head. I heard the door open and turned to see her getting out. 

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm taking you to dinner." She smiled slightly, but her eyes were hard. She stepped out of the car and slammed the door. I fumbled with my seat belt, and then hurried to get out of the car as well. She was waiting for me on the sidewalk. 

She spoke before I could. "Go stop Jessica and Angela before I have to track them down, too. I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again."

I shivered at the threat in her voice.

"Jess! Angela!" I yelled after them, waving when they turned. They rushed back to me, the pronounced relief on both their faces simultaneously changing to surprise ad they saw who I was standing next to. They hesitated a few feet from us. 

"Where have you been?" Jessica's voice was suspicious.

"I got lost," I admitted sheepishly. "And then I ran into Edythe." I gestured toward her.

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" she asked in her silken, irresistible voice. I could see from their staggered expressions that she had never unleashed her talents on them before.

"Er. . . sure," Jessica breathed.

"Um, actually, Bella, we already ate while we were waiting--sorry," Angela confessed.

"That's fine--I'm not hungry." I shrugged.

"I think you should eat something." Edythe's voice was low, nut full of authority. She looked up at Jessica and spoke slightly louder. "Do you mind if I drive Bella home tonight? That way you won't have to wait while she eats."

"Uh, no problem, I guess. . ." She bit her lip, trying to figure out form my expression whether that was what I wanted. I winked at her. I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my perpetual savior. There ware so many questions that I couldn't  bombard her with till we were by ourselves.

"Okay." Angela was quicker than Jessica. "See you tomorrow, Bella. . . Edythe." She grabbed Jessica's hand and pulled her toward the car, which I could see a little ways away, parked across First Street. As they got in, Jess turned and waved, her face eager with curiosity. I waved back, waiting for them to drive away before I turned and faced Edythe. 

"Honestly, I'm not hungry," I insisted, looking up to scrutinize her face. Her expression was unreadable.

"Humor me." 

She walked to the door of the restaurant and held it open with an obstinate expression. Obviously, there would be no further discussion. I walked past her into the restaurant with a resigned sigh.

The restaurant wasn't crowded--it was the off-season in Port Angeles. The host was female, and I understood the look in her eyes as she assessed Edythe. She welcomed her a little more warmly than necessary. I was surprised by how much that bothered me. She was several inches taller than I was, and unnaturally blonde.

"A table for two?" Edythe's voice was alluring, whether she was aiming for that or not. I saw the hostess's eyes flicker to me and then away, satisfied by my obvious ordinariness, and by the cautious, no-contact space Edythe kept between us. She led us to a table big enough for four in the center of the most crowded area of the dining floor.

I was about to sit, but Edythe shook her head at me. 

"Perhaps something more private?" she insisted quietly to the host. I wasn't sure, but it looked like she smoothly handed her a tip. I'd never seen anyone refuse a table except in old movies.

"Sure." She sounded as surprised as I was. She turned and led us around a partition to a small ring of booths--all of them empty. "How's this?"

"Perfect." She flashed her dimpled smile, dazing her momentarily.

"Um"--she shook her head, blinking--"your server will be right out." She walked away unsteadily.

"You really shouldn't do that to people," I criticized. "It's hardly fair."

"Do what?"

"Dazzle them like that--she's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."

She seemed confused.

"Oh, come on," I said dubiously. "You _have_ to know the effect you have on people."

She tilted her head to one side, her hair escaping from behind her ear, and her eyes were curious. "I dazzle people?"

"You haven't noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"

She ignored my questions. "Do I dazzle _you_?"

"Frequently," I admitted.

And then our server arrived, his face expectant. The hostess had definitely dished behind the scenes, and this new guy didn't look disappointed. He pushed a hand through his short black har and smiled with unnecessary warmth.

"Hello. My name is Allen, and I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?" I didn't miss that he was speaking only to her.

She looked at me.

"I'll have a Coke," It sounded like a question.

"Two Cokes," she said.

"I'll be right back with that," he assured her with another unnecessary smile. But she didn't see it. She was watching me.

"What?" I asked when he left.

Her eyes stayed fixed on my face. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I replied, surprised by her intensity. 

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold. . .?"

"Should I?"

She chuckled at my puzzled tone.

"Well, I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock." Her face twisted up into that perfect dimpled smile.

"I don't think that will happen," I said after I could breathe again. "I've always been very good at repressing unpleasant things."

"Just the same, I'll feel better when you have some food and sugar in you."

Right on cue, the waiter appeared with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. He stood with his back to me as he placed them on the table.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked Edythe.

"Bella?" she asked. He turned unwillingly toward me.

I picked the first thing I saw on the menu. "Um. . . I'll have the mushroom ravioli."

"And you?" He turned back to her with a smile.

"Nothing for me," she said. Of course not.

"Let me know if you change your mind." The coy smile was still in place, but she wasn't looking at him, and he left dissatisfied. 

"Drink," she ordered.

I sipped at my soda obediently, and then drank more deeply, surprised by how thirsty I was. I realized I had finished the whole thing when she pushed her glass toward me.

"Thanks," I muttered, still thirsty. The cold from the icy soda was radiating through my chest, and I shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"It's just the Coke," I explained, shivering again.

"Don't you have a jacket?" Her face was disapproving.

"Yes," I looked at the empty bench next to me. Oh--I left it in Jessica's car." I realized.

Edythe was shrugging out of her jacket. I suddenly realized that I had never once noticed what she was wearing--not just tonight, but ever. I just couldn't seem to look away from her face. I made myself look now, focusing. She was removing a large, slightly oversized denim jacket now; underneath she wore an ivory turtleneck sweater. It fit her snugly, emphasizing her chest, I looked up before I could get caught staring.

She handed me the jacket, I didn't meet her eyes.

"Thanks," I said again, sliding my arms into her jacket. It was cold-the way my jacket felt when I first picked it up in the morning, hanging in the drafty hallway. I shivered again. It smelled amazing. I inhaled, trying to identify the delicious scent. It didn't smell like perfume. The sleeves were slightly to long; I rolled them up so I could free my hands.

"That color of blue looks lovely with your skin," she said, watching me. I was surprised; I looked down, flushing, of course.

She pushed the bread basket toward me.

"Really, I'm not going into shock," I protested.

"You should be--a _normal_ person would be. You don't even look shaken." She seemed unsettled. She stared into my eyes, and I saw how light her eyes were, lighter than I'd ever seen them, golden butterscotch.

"I feel very safe with you," I confessed, mesmerized into telling the truth again. That displeased her; her alabaster brow furrowed. She shook her head, frowning.

"This is more complicated than I'd planned," She murmured to herself. 

I picked up a breadstick and began nibbling on the end, measuring her expression. I wondered when it would be okay to start questioning her.

"Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light," I commented, trying to distract her from whatever thought had her frowning and somber. 

She stared at me, stunned. "What?"

"You're always crabbier when your eyes are black--I expect it then," I went on. "I have a theory about that."

Her eyes narrowed. "More theories?"

"Mm-hm." I chewed on a small bite of the bread, trying to look indifferent. 

"I hope you were more creative this time. . . or are you still stealing from comic books?" Her faint smile was mocking; her eyes were still tight.

"Well, no, I didn't get it from a comic book, but I didn't come up with it on my own, either," I confessed.

"And?" she prompted.

But then the waiter strode around the partition with my food. I realized we'd been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because we both straightened up as she approached. He set the dish in front of me--it looked pretty good--and turned quickly to Edythe.

"Did you change your mind?" he asked. "Isn't there anything I can get for you?" I may have been imagining the double meaning  in his words.

"No, thank you, but some more soda would be nice." She gestured with a long white hand to the empty cups in front of me.

"Sure." He removed the empty glasses and walked away.

"You were saying?" She asked.

"I'll tell you about it in the car. If. . ." I paused.

"There are conditions?" She raised one eyebrow, her voice ominous.

"I do have a few questions, of course."

"Of course."

The waiter was back with two more Cokes. He sat them down without a word this time, and left again.

I took a sip.

"Well, go ahead," she pushed, her voice still hard.

I started with the most undemanding. Or so I thought. "Why are you in Port Angeles?" 

She looked down, folding her small hands together slowly on the table. Her eyes flickered up at me from under her lashes, the hint of a smirk on her face.

"Next."

"But that's the easiest one," I objected.

"Next," she repeated. 

I looked down, frustrated. I unrolled my silverware, picked up my fork, and carefully speared a ravioli. I put it in my mouth slowly, still looking down, chewing while I thought. The mushrooms were good. I swallowed and took another sip of Coke before I looked up.

"Okay, then." I glared at her, and continued slowly. "Let's say, hypothetically of course, that. . . someone. . . could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know--with a few exceptions."

"Just _one_ exception," she corrected, "hypothetically."

"All right, with one exception, then." I was thrilled that she was playing along, but I tried to seem casual. "How does that work? What are the limitations? How would. . . that someone. . . find someone else at exactly the right time? How would she know she was in trouble?" I wondered if my convoluted questions even made sense.

"Hypothetically?"

"Sure."

"Well, if. . . that someone. . ."

"Let's call her 'Jane,'" I suggested.

She smiled wryly, "Jane, then. If Jane had been paying attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Only _you_ could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devoted their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

"We were speaking of a hypothetical case," I reminded her frostily.

She smiled at me, her eyes warm.

"Yes, we were," she agreed. "Shall we call you 'Jo'?"

"How did you know?" I asked, unable to curb my intensity. I realized I was leaning toward her again.

She seemed to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. Her eyes locked with mine, and I guessed she was making the decision right then whether or not to simply tell me the truth.

"You can trust me, you know," I murmured. I reached forward, without thinking, to touch her folded hands, but she slid them away minutely, and I pulled my hand back.

"I don't know if I have a choice anymore." Her voice was almost a whisper. "I was wrong--you're much more observant than I face you credit for." 

"I thought you were always right."

"I used to be." She shook her head again. "I was wrong about you on one other thing, as well. You're not a magnet for accidents--that's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for _trouble_. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."

"And you put yourself into that category?" I guessed.

Her face turned to stone, expressionless. "Unequivocally."

I stretched my hand across the table again--ignoring her when she pulled back slightly once more--to touch the back of her hand shyly with my fingertips. Her skin was cold and hard, like a stone.

"Thank you." My voice was fervent with gratitude. "That's twice now."

Her face softened. "Let's not try for three, agreed?"

I scowled, but nodded. She moved her hand out from under mine, placing both of her's under the table. But she leaned toward me.

"I followed you to Port Angeles," she admitted, speaking in a rush. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes." She paused. I wondered if it should bother me that she was following me; instead I felt a strange surge of pleasure. She stared, maybe wondering why my lips were curving into an involuntary smile.

"Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you've been interfering with fate?" I speculated, distracting myself. 

"That wasn't the first time," she said, and her voice was hard to hear. I stared at her in amazement, but she was looking down. "Your number was up the first time I met you."

I felt a spasm of fear at her words, and the abrupt memory of her violent black glare that first day. . . but the overwhelming sense of safety I felt inner presence stifled it. by the time she looked up to read my eyes, there was no trace of fear in them.

"You remember?" she asked, her angel's face grave.

"Yes." I was calm.

"And yet here you sit." There was a trace of disbelief in her voice; she raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, here I sit. . . because of you." I paused. "Because somehow you knew how to find me today. . . ?" I prompted. 

She pressed her lips together, staring at me through narrowed eyes, deciding again. Her eyes flashed down to my full plate, and then back to me. 

"You eat, I'll talk," she bargained.

I quickly scooped up another ravioli and popped it in my mouth.

"It's harder than it should be--keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before." She looked at me anxiously, and I realized I had frozen. I made myself swallow, then stabbed another ravioli and tossed it in.

"I was keeping tabs on Jessica, not carefully--like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles--and at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn't gone in, and that you'd gone south. . . and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street--to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried. . . but I was strangely anxious. . ." She was lost in thought, staring past me, seeing things I couldn't imagine.

"I started to drive in circles, still. . . listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then--" She stopped, clenching her teeth together in sudden fury. She made an effort to calm herself.

"Then what?" I whispered. She continued to stare over my head.

"I heard what they were thinking," she growled, her upper lip curling slightly back over her teeth. "I saw your face in his mind." She suddenly leaned forward, one elbow appearing on the table, her hand covering her eyes. The movement was so swift it startled me.

"It was very. . . hard--you can't imagine how hard--for me to simply take you away, and leave them. . . alive." Her voice was muffled by her arm. "I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them," she admitted in a whisper.

I sat quietly, dazed, my thoughts incoherent. My hands were folded in my lap, and I was leaning weakly against the back of the seat. She still had her face in her hand, and she was as still as if she'd been carved from the stone her skin resembled. 

Finally she looked up, her eyes seeking mine, full of her own questions.

"Are you ready to go home?" she asked.

"I'm ready to leave," I qualified, overly grateful that we had the hour-long ride home together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to her.

The waiter appeared as if he'd been called. Or watching.

"How are we doing?" he asked Edythe.

"We're ready for the check, thank you." Her voice was quiet, rougher, still reflecting the strain of our conversation. It seemed to muddle her. He looked up, waiting.

"S-sure," he stuttered. "Here you go." He pulled a small leather folder from the front pocket of his black apron and handed it to her.

There was a bill in her hand already. She slipped it into the folder and handed it right back to him.

"No change." She smiled. Then she stood up, and I scrambled awkwardly to my feet.

He smiled invitingly at her again. "You have a nice evening."

She didn't look away from me as she thanked him. I suppressed a smile.

She walked close beside me to the door, still careful not to touch me. I remembered what Jessica said about her relationship with Mike, how they were almost to the first-kiss stage. I sighed. Edythe seemed to hear me, and she looked down curiously. I looked at the sidewalk, grateful that she didn't seem to be able to know what I was thinking.

She opened the passenger door, holding it for me as I stepped in, shutting it softly behind me. I watched her walk around the front of the car, amazed, yet again, by how graceful she was. I probably should have been used to that by now--but I wasn't. I had a feeling Edythe wasn't the kind of person anyone got used to.

Once inside the car, she started the engine and turned the heater on high. It had gotten very cold, and I guessed the good weather was at an end. I was warm in her jacket, though, breathing in the scent of it when I thought she couldn't see.

Edythe pulled out through the traffic, apparently without a glance, flipping around to head toward the freeway. 

"Now," she said significantly, "it's your turn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want updates, follow me on Tumblr @Legere-librum


	10. Theory

"Can I ask just one more?" I pleaded as Edythe accelerated much too quickly down the quiet street. She didn't seem to be paying any attention to the road.

She sighed.

"One," she agreed. Her lips pressed together into a cautious line.

"Well. . .you said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."

She looked away, deliberating. 

"I thought we were past all the evasiveness," I grumbled.

She almost smiled, her dimples struggling to show.

"Fine, then. I followed your scent." She looked at the road, giving me time to compose my face. I couldn't think of an acceptable response to that, but I filed it carefully away for future study. I tried to refocus. I wasn't ready to let her be finished, now that she was finally explaining things.

"And then you didn't answer one of my first questions. . ." I stalled.

She looked at me with mock disproval. "Which one?"

"How does it work--the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family. . . ?" I felt silly, asking for clarification on make-believe.

"That's more than one," she pointed out with a smile. I simply intertwined my fingers and gazed at her, waiting.

"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's. . . 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles." She paused thoughtfully. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum--a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear.

"Most of the time I tune it all out--it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem _normal_ "--she frowned as she said the word--"when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" I asked curiously.

She looked at me, her eyes enigmatic.

"I don't know," she murmured. "The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." She grinned at me, suddenly amused.

"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" The words bothered me more than they should--probably because her speculation hit home. I'd always suspected as much, and it embarrassed me to have it confirmed.

"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that _you're_ the freak," she laughed. "Don't worry, it's just a theory. . ." Her face scrunched up. "Which brings us back to you."

I sighed. How to begin?

"Aren't we past all the evasions now?" she reminded me softly.

I looked away from her face for the first time, trying to find words. I happened to notice the speedometer.

"Holy cow!" I shouted. "Slow down!"

"What's wrong?" She was startled. But the car didn't decelerate.

"You're going a hundred miles an hour!" I was still shouting. I shot a panicky glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightens from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wall--as hard as a wall of steel if we veered off the road at this speed.

"Relax, Bella." She rolled her eyes, still not slowing.

"Are you trying to kill us?" I demanded.

"We're not going to crash." 

I tried to modulate my voice. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I always drive like this." She turned to flash her dimples at me.

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

"I've never been in an accident, Bella--I've never even gotten a ticket." She grinned and tapped her forehead. "Built-in radar detector."

"Very funny," I fumed. "Charlie's a cop, remember? I was raised to abide by traffic laws. Besides, if you turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away."

"Probably," she agreed with a short, hard laugh. "But you can't." She sighed, and I watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty.

"Happy?"

"Almost."

"I hate driving slow," she complained.

"This is slow?"

"Enough commentary on my driving," she snapped. "I'm still waiting for your latest theory."

I bit my lip. She looked down at me, her honey eyes unexpectedly gentle.

"I won't laugh." She promised, sincerely.

"I'm more afraid that you'll be angry with me."

"Is it that bad?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

She looked across at me, her eyes still gentle, "I don't think I could ever be very angry at you."

I looked down at my hands, blushing.

"Go ahead." Her voice was calm.

"I don't know how to start," I admitted.

"Why don't you start at the beginning. . . you said you didn't come up with this on your own."

"No."

"What got you started--a book? A movie?" she probed.

"No--it was Saturday, at the beach." I risked a glance at her face. She looked puzzled.

"I ran into an old family fried--Julie Black," I continued. "Her dad and Charlie have been friends since I was a baby."

She still looked confused.

"Her dad is one of the Quileute elders." I watched her carefully. Her confused expression froze in place. "We went for a walk--" I edited all my scheming out of the story "--and she was telling me some old legends--trying to scare me, I think. She told me one. . ." I hesitated.

"Go on," she said.

"About vampires." I realized I was whispering. I couldn't look at her face now. But I saw her knuckles tighten convulsively on the wheel.

"And you immediately thought of me?" Still calm.

"No. She. . . mentioned your family."

She was silent, staring at the road.

I was worried suddenly, worried about protecting Julie.

"She just thought it was a silly superstition," I said quickly. "She didn't expect me to think anything of it." It didn't seem like enough; I had to confess. "It was my fault, I forced her to tell me."

"Why?"

"Lauren said something about you--she was trying to provoke me. And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like he meant something different. So I got Julie alone and I tricked it out of her," I admitted, hanging my head.

"Tricked her how?" she asked.

"I tried to flirt--it worked better than I thought it would." Disbelief colored my tone as I remembered.

"I'd like to have seen that." She chuckled. "And you accused me of dazzling people--poor Julie Black."

I blushed and looked out my window into the night.

"What did you do then?" she asked after a minute of silence.

"I did some research on the Internet."

"And did that convince you?" Her voice sounded like she was trying to sound disinterested. But her hands were clamped hard onto the steering wheel.

"No. Nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then. . ." I stopped.

"What?"

"I decided that it didn't matter," I whispered.

"It didn't _matter_?" Her tone made me look up--I had finally broken through her carefully composed mask. Her face was incredulous, with just a hint of irritation and the anger I'd feared.

"No," I said softly. "It doesn't matter to me what you are."

Her voice shook with disbelief, "You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not _human_?"

"No."

She was silent, staring straight ahead again. Her face was bleak.

"I thought you said you couldn't be angry with me?" I sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"I'm not angry--" she took a deep breath, "--I'm just. . ." 

She paused again, looking for the right word. And then decided to move on.

"Regardless, I'd rather know what you're thinking--even if what your thinking is insane."

"So I'm wrong again?" I challenged.

"That's not what I was referring to. 'It doesn't matter'!" she quoted, gritting her teeth together.

"I'm right?" I gasped.

"Does it _matter_?" I was pretty sure that she was teasing me now.

I took a deep breath.

"Not really." I paused. "But I _am_ curious." My voice, at least, was composed.

She was suddenly resigned. "What are you curious about?"

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen." She answered promptly.

"And how long have you been seventeen?"

Her lips twitched as she stared at the road. "A while," she admitted at last.

"Okay," I smiled, pleased that she was still being honest with me, and that she seemed to be trying to control her anger. She stared down at me with watchful eyes, much as she had before, when she was worried I would go into shock. I smiled wider in encouragement, and she frowned.

"Don't laugh--but how can you come out during the daytime?"

She laughed anyway. "Myth."

"Burned by the sun?"

"Myth."

"Sleeping in coffins?"

"Myth." She hesitated for a moment, and a peculiar tone entered her voice. "I can't sleep."

It took me a minute to absorb that. "At all?"

"Never," she said, her voice nearly inaudible. She turned to look at me with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held mine, and I lost my train of thought. I stared at her until she looked away.

"You haven't asked me the most important question yet." Her voice was hard now, and when she looked at me again her eyes were too.

I blinked, still dazed. "Which one is that?"

"You aren't concerned about my diet?" she asked sarcastically.

"Oh," I murmured, "that."

"Yes, that." Her voice was bleak. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

I flinched. "Well, Julie said something about that."

"What did Julie say?" she asked flatly.

"She said you didn't. . . hunt people. She said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"She said we weren't dangerous?" Her voice was skeptical.

"Not exactly. She said you weren't _supposed_ to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

She looked forward, but I couldn't tell if she was watching the road or not. Her mood swings were starting to give me a headache.

"So was she right? About not hunting people?" I tried to keep my voice as even as possible, as if I was asking about the weather, instead of asking her if she was a murderer or not. 

"No, my family doesn't hunt people, the Quileutes have a long memory," she whispered.

My body thrummed with relief. I didn't realize how scared I was until then.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," she warned me, noticing me relax. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand."

"We try," she explained slowly. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"This is a mistake?" I heard the sadness in my voice, but I didn't know if she could as well.

"A very dangerous one," she murmured.

We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn't look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black mud beneath us, and I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with her like this again--openly, the walls between us gone for once. Her words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn't waste one minute I had with her. 

"Tell me more," I asked desperately, not caring what she said, just so I could hear her voice again.

She looked at me quickly, startled by the change in my tone. "What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," I suggested, my voice still tinged with desperation. I realized my eyes were wet, and I fought against the grief that was trying to overpower me.

"I don't _want_ to be a monster." Her voice was low. 

"But animals aren't enough?"

She paused. "I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger--or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time." Her voice turned ominous. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you now?" I asked, half afraid of the answer.

She sighed. "Yes."

"But you're not hungry now," I said confidently--stating, not asking.

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. I've noticed that people are crabbier when they're hungry."

She chuckled. "You are observant, aren't you?"

I didn't answer; I just listened to the sound of her laugh, committing it to memory.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with Emmett?" I asked when it was quiet again.

"Yes." She paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?"

"It makes me. . . anxious. . . to be away from you." Her eyes were gentle but intense, and they seemed to be making my bones turn soft. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." She shook her head, and then seemed to remember something. "Well, not totally unscathed."

"What?"

"Your hands," she reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. Her eyes missed nothing.

"I fell," I sighed.

"That's what I thought." Her lips curved up at the corners. "I suppose, being you, it cold have been much worse--and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Emmett's nerves." She smiled ruefully at me.

"Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't any of you in school?" I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much disappointment I had suffered because of her absence.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight--at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"I'll show you sometime," she promised.

I thought about it for a moment.

"You might have called me," I decided.

She was puzzled. "But I knew you were safe."

"But _I_ didn't know where _you_ were. I--" I hesitated, dropping my eyes. 

"What?" Her velvety voice was compelling.

"I didn't like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious, too." I blushed to be saying this out loud.

She was quiet. I glanced up, apprehensive, and saw that her expression was pained.

"Ah," she groaned quietly. "This is wrong."

I couldn't understand her response. "What didn't I say?"

"Don't you see, Bella? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." She turned her anguished eyes to the road, her words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. "I don't want to hear that you feel that way." Her voice was low but urgent. Her words cut me. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Bella--please, grasp that."

"I-I don't know if I can." I tried very hard not to look like a sulky child. 

"I'm serious," she growled.

"So am I. I told you, it doesn't matter what you are. It's too late."

Her voice whipped out, low and harsh. "Never say that."

I bit my lip and was glad she couldn't know how much that hurt. I stared at the road. We must be close now. She was driving much too fast.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, her voice still raw. I just shook my head, not sure if I could speak. I could feel her gaze on my face, but I kept my eyes forward.

"Are you crying?" She sounded urgent. I hadn't realized the moisture in my eyes had brimmed over. I quickly rubbed my hand across my cheek, and sure enough, traitor tears were there, betraying me. 

"No," I lied, but my voice cracked.

I saw her reach toward me hesitantly with her right hand, but then she stopped and placed it slowly back on the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry," Her voice burned with so much regret it made me look up. I knew she wasn't just apologizing for the words that had upset me.

"I'm fine." I whispered.

"No, I really am sorry. I need to control my temper. I don't want you to be upset because of me." Her words were so genuine, I didn't know what to say.

The darkness slipped by us in silence.

"Tell me something," she asked after another minute, and I could hear her struggle to use a lighter tone.

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression--you didn't look that scared, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

"I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker--you know, self-self defense. I took a class with my mom once. I was going to try to smash his nose into his brain." I thought of the dark-haired man with a surge of hate.

"You were going to fight them?" She sounded upset. "Didn't you think about running?"

"I fall down a lot when I run," I admitted.

"What about screaming for help?"

"I was getting to that part. And it was either scream for help, and wait for a savior who may or may not come, or try to fight back. Even if it won't work. I wasn't going to go down without taking at least one of them with me."

She shook her head. "You were right--I'm definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive." But she sounded a little proud.

I sighed. We were slowing, passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I demanded.

"Yes--I have a paper due, too." She smiled. "I'll save you a seat at lunch."

It was silly, after everything we'd been through tonight, how that little promise sent flutters through my stomach, and made me unable to speak.

We were in front of Charlie's house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. She stopped the car, but I didn't move.

"Do you _promise_ to be there tomorrow?"

"I promise." 

I considered that for a moment, her words were so sincere, I had no choice but to believe her. I nodded, then pulled her jacket off, taking one last whiff.

"You can keep it--you don't have a jacket for tomorrow," she reminded me.

I handed it back to her, "I don't want to have to explain to Charlie, I'm not exactly out to him yet." 

"Oh, right." She grinned. And I debated on if her dimples could actually hypnotize me.

I hesitated, my hand on the door handle, trying to prolong the moment.

"Bella?" she asked in a different tone--serious, but hesitant.

"Yes?" I turned back to her too eagerly.

"Will you promise me something?"

"It depends." 

She raised her eyebrow at my hesitancy, "Don't go into the woods alone."

I stared at her in blank confusion. "Why?"

She frowned, and her eyes were tight as she stared past me out the window. "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

I shuddered slightly at the sudden bleakness in her voice, but I was relieved. This, at least, was an easy promise to honor. "I can do that. I'm not exactly a master hiker." 

"I'll see you tomorrow," she chuckled, I took the hint, and tuned toward the door again.

"Tomorrow, then." I opened the door unwillingly.

"Bella?" I turned and she was leaning toward me, her pale, glorious face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating. 

"Sleep well," she said. Her breath blew in my face, stunning me. It was the same exquisite scent that clung to her jacket, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, thoroughly dazed. She leaned away, smiling.

I was unable to move until my brain had somewhat unscrambled itself. Then I stepped out of the car awkwardly, having to use the frame for support. I thought I heard her giggle, but the sound was too quiet for me to be certain.

She waited til I had stumbled to the front door, and then I heard her engine quietly rev. I turned to watch the silver car disappear around the corner. I realized it was very cold. 

I reached for the key mechanically, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. 

Charlie called from the living room, "Bella?"

"Yeah, Dad, it's me." I walked in to see him. He was watching a baseball game.

"You're home early."

"Am I?" I was surprised.

"It's not even eight yet," he told me. "Did you girls have fun?"

"Yeah--it was lots of fun." My head was spinning as I tried to remember all the way back back to the girls' night out I had planned. "They both found dresses."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm just tired. I did a lot of walking." I decided not to tell him about what almost happened to me. I didn't want him to worry unnecessarily.

"Well, maybe you should go lie down." He sounded concerned. I wondered what my face looked like. 

"I'm just going to call Jessica first."

"Weren't you just with her?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes--but I left my jacket in her car. I want to make sure she brings it tomorrow."

"Well, give her a chance to get home first."

"Right." I agreed.

I went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. I was really feeling dizzy now. I wondered if I was going to shock after all. Get a grip, I told myself.

The phone rang suddenly, startling me. I yanked it off the hook.

"Hello?" I asked breathlessly.

"Bella?"

"Hey, Jess, I was just going to call you."

"You made it home?" Her voice was relieved. . . and surprised.

"Yes. I left my jacket in your car--could you bring it to me tomorrow?"

"Sure. But tell me what happened!" she demanded, and I held back a laugh.

"Um, tomorrow--in Trig, okay? I'll tell you everything." I promised, happy to have someone to talk to about it.

She caught on quickly. "Oh, is your dad there?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!" I could hear the giddiness in her voice.

"Bye, Jess."

I walked up the stairs slowly, a heavy stupor clouding my mind. I went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying any attention to what I was doing. It wasn't until I was in the shower--the water too hot, burning my skin--that I realized I was freezing. I shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could finally relax my rigid muscles. Then I stood in the shower, too tired to move, until the hot water began to run out. 

I stumbled out, wrapping myself securely in a towel, trying to hold the heat from the water in so the aching shivers wouldn't return. I dressed for bed swiftly and climbed under my quilt, curling into a ball, hugging myself to keep warm. A few small shudders trembled through me.

My mind still swirled dizzily, full of images I couldn't understand, and some I fought to repress. Nothing seemed clear at first, but as I fell gradually closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edythe was a vampire. Second, there was a part of her--and I didn't know how potent that part might be--that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her.

 

 


	11. Interrogations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want updates on how this book is going, follow me on Tumblr @ Legere-librum

It was very hard, in the morning, to argue with the part of me that was sure last night was a dream. Logic wasn't on my side, or common sense. I clung to the parts I couldn't have imagined--like her smell. I was sure I could never have dreamed that up on my own.

It was foggy and dark outside my window, absolutely perfect. She had no reason not to be in school today. I dressed in my heavy clothes, remembering I didn't have a jacket. Further proof that my memory was real.

When I got downstairs, Charlie was gone again--I was running later than I'd realized. I swallowed a granola bar in three bites, chasing it down with milk straight from the carton when I almost choked on the dry grains, and then hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until I could find Jessica.

It was unusually foggy; the air was almost smoky with it. The mist was ice cold where it clung to the exposed skin on my face and neck. I couldn't wait to get the heat going in my truck. It was such a thick fog that I was a few feet down the driveway before I realized there was a car in it: a silver car. My heart thudded, stuttered, and then picked up again in double time.

I didn't see where she came from, but suddenly she was there, pulling the door open for me.

"Do you want to ride with me today?" she asked, amused by my expression as she caught me by surprise yet again. There was uncertainty in her voice. She was worried that I was going to say no, but part of her hoped for that. It was a vain hope.

"Yes, thank you," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. As I stepped into the warm car, I noticed her denim jacket was slung over the headrest of the passenger seat. The door closed behind me, and, sooner than should be possible, she was sitting next to me, starting the car.

"I brought the jacket for you. I didn't want you to get sick or something." Her voice was hesitant. I noticed that she wore no jacket herself, just a light gray knit V-neck shirt with long sleeves. Again, the fabric clung to her perfect chest. It was a colossal tribute to her face that it kept my eyes away from her body. Her hair was up in a pony-tail today, with a few wisps that framed her face, it looked like she got it styled by a professional.

"I'm not quite that delicate," I said, but I pulled the jacket onto my lap, pushing my arms through the too-long sleeves, curious to see if the scent could possibly be as good as I remembered. It was better.

"Aren't you?" she contradicted in a voice so low I wasn't sure if she meant for me to hear.

We drove through the fog-shrouded streets, going above the speed limit, but still at a reasonable pace. I wondered if she was going slow for my benefit. I felt awkward, last night all the walls were down. . . almost all. I didn't know if we were still being as candid today. It left me tongue-tied. I waited for her to speak.

She turned to smirk at me. "What, no twenty questions today?"

"Do my questions bother you?" I asked, relieved.

"Not as much as your reactions do." She looked like she was joking, but I knew there was some truth to her statement. 

I frowned. "Do I react badly?"

"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly--it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."

"I always tell you what I'm really thinking."

"You edit," she accused, her dimples still flashing.

"Not very much."

"Enough to drive me insane."

"You know that's how everyone else feels. Not being able to tell what someone is thinking is normal. Besides, you don't want to hear it," I mumbled the last part, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint; I could only hope she hadn't noticed it.

She shot me a playful glare, courteously ignoring my last comment. We sat in comfortable silence as we pulled into the school parking lot. Something occurred to me belatedly.

"Where's the rest of your family?" I asked--more than glad to be alone with her, but remembering that her car was usually full.

"They took Rosalie's car." She shrugged as she parked next to a glossy red convertible with the top up. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

"Um, wow." I breathed. "If she has _that_ , why does she ride with you?"

"Like I said, it's ostentatious. We _try_ to blend in."

"You don't succeed." I laughed and shook my head as we got out of the car. I wasn't late anymore; her driving had gotten me to school a little early. "So why did Rosalie drive today if it's core conspicuous?"

"Hadn't you noticed? I'm breaking _all_ the rules now." She met me at the front of the car, staying very close to my side as we walked onto campus. I wanted to close that little distance, to reach out and touch her, but I was afraid she wouldn't like me to.

"Why do you have cars like that at all?" I wondered aloud. "If you're looking for privacy?"

"And indulgence," she admitted with an impish smile. "We all like to drive fast."

"Figures," I muttered under my breath.

Under the shelter of the cafeteria roof's overhang, Jessica was waiting, her eyes about to bug out of their sockets. Over her arm, bless her, was my jacket. 

"Hey, Jessica," I said when we were a few feet away. "Thanks for remembering." She handed me my jacket without speaking. I shrugged off Edythe's jacket and handed it to her, Jessica's eyes tracked my moves with disbelief.

"Good morning, Jessica." Edythe said politely. It wasn't really her fault that Jessica was about to have a stroke, it was a lot to take in.

"Er. . . hi." She shifted her wide eyes to me, trying to gather her jumbled thoughts. "I guess I'll see you in Trig." She gave me a meaningful look, and I suppressed a giggle, and then a sigh. What on earth was I going to tell her?

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

She walked away, pausing twice to peek back over her shoulder at us.

"What are you going to tell her?" Edythe murmured.

"Hey, I thought you couldn't read my mind!" I hissed.

"I can't," she said, startled. Then understanding brightened her eyes. "However, I can read hers--she'll be waiting to ambush you in class." 

I groaned and I finally pulled on my jacket, Edythe's eyes were full of humor.

"So what are you going to tell her?"

"A little help?" I pleaded. "What does she want to know?"

She shook her head, grinning wickedly. "That's not fair."

"No, you not sharing what you know--now _that's_ not fair."

She deliberated for a moment as we walked. We stopped outside the door to my first class.

"She wants to know if we're secretly dating. And she wants to know how you feel about me," she finally said.

"Yikes. What should I say?" I tried to keep my expression very innocent. People were passing us on their way to class, probably staring, but I was barely aware of them.

"Hmmm." She paused to catch a stray lock of hair that was escaping the twist on my neck and wound it back into place. My heart spluttered hyperactively. "I suppose you could say yes to the first. . . if you don't mind--it's easier than any other explanation."

"I don't mind," I said in a faint voice.

"And as for her other question. . . well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself." One side of her mouth pulled up into my favorite dimpled smile. I couldn't catch my breath soon enough to respond to that remark. She turned and walked away.

"I'll see you at lunch," she called over her shoulder. Three people walking in the door stopped to stare at me.

I hurried into class, flushed and irritated. She was such a cheater. Now I was even more worried about what I was going to say to Jessica. I sat in my usual seat, slamming my bag down in aggravation.

"Morning, Bella," Mike said from the seat next to me. I looked up to see an odd, almost resigned look on his face. "How was Port Angeles?"

"It was. . ." There was no honest way to sum it up. "Great," I finished lamely. "Jessica got a really cute dress."

"Did she say anything about Monday night?" he asked, his eyes brightening. I smiled at the turn the conversation had taken.

"She said she had a really great time," I assured him.

"She did?" he said, eagerly.

"Most definitely."

Mr. Mason called the class to order then, asking us to turn in our papers. English and then Government passed in a blur, while I was worried about how to explain things to Jessica and agonized over whether Edythe would really be listening to what I said through the medium of Jess's thoughts. How very inconvenient her little talent could be--when it wasn't saving my life. 

The fog had almost dissolved by the end of the second hour, but the day was still dark with low, oppressing clouds. I smiled up at the sky.

Edythe was right, of course. When I walked into Trig Jessica was sitting in the back row, nearly bouncing off her seat in agitation. I went to sit by her, trying to convince myself that it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible. 

"Tell me everything!" she commanded before I was in the seat.

"What do you want to know?" I hedged.

"What happened last night?"

"She bought me dinner, and then she drove me home."

She glared at me, her expression stiff with skepticism. "How did you get home so fast?"

"She drives like a maniac. It was terrifying." I hoped she heard that, as much as I was grateful that she drove at a more reasonable pace this morning.

"Was it like a date--did you tell her to meet you there?"

I hadn't thought of that. "No--I was _very_ surprised to see her there."

Her lips puckered in disappointment at the transparent honesty in my voice.

"But she picked you up for school today?" she probed.

"Yes--that was a surprise, too. She noticed I didn't have a jacket last night," I explained.

"So are you going out again?"

"She offered to drive me to Seattle Saturday because she thinks my truck isn't up to it--does that count?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Well, then, yes."

"W-o-w." she exaggerated the word into three syllables. "Edythe Cullen."

"I know," I agreed. "Wow" didn't even cover it.

"Wait!" Her hands flew up, palms toward me like she was stopping traffic. "Has she kissed you?"

"No," I mumbled. "It's not like that."

She looked disappointed. I'm sure I did too.

"Do you think Saturday. . . ?" She raised her eyebrows.

"I really doubt it." The discontent in my voice was poorly disguised.

"What did you talk about?" She pushed for more information in a whisper. Class had started but Mr. Varner wasn't paying close attention and we weren't the only ones still talking.

"I don't know, Jess, lots of stuff. Its kinda hard to remember," I whispered back. "We talked about the English essay a little." A very, very little. I think she mentioned it in passing.

"Please, Bella." She begged. "Give me some details."

"Well. . . okay, I've got one. You should have seen the waitress flirting with her--it was over the top. But she didn't pay any attention to him at all." Let her make what she could of that.

"That's a good sign," she nodded. "Was he cute?"

"Very--and probably nineteen or twenty."

"Even better. She must like you."

"I _think_ so, but it's hard to tell. She's always so cryptic," I threw in for her benefit, sighing.

"I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with her," she breathed.

"Why?" I was shocked, but she didn't understand my reaction.

"They're all so. . . intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to her." She made a face, probably remembering this morning or last night, when she'd turned the overwhelming force of her eyes on her. And Jessica wasn't even Gay.

"I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around her," I admitted.

"Oh, well. She _is_ unbelievably gorgeous." Jessica shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did.

"There's a lot more to her than that."

"Really? Like what?"

I wished I hadn't said anything, immediately embarrassed of what Edythe would hear if she was serious about listening in.

"I can't explain it right. . . but she's even more unbelievable _behind_ the face." The vampire who wanted to be good--who ran around saving people's lives so she wouldn't be a monster. . . I stared toward the front of the room.

"Is that _possible_?" She giggled.

I ignored her, trying to look like I was paying attention to Mr. Varner. 

"So you like her, then?" She wasn't about to give up.

"Yes," I said curtly. Embarrassed. 

"I mean, do you _really_ like her?" she urged.

"Yes," I said again, blushing. I hoped that detail wouldn't register in her thoughts.

She'd had enough with the single syllable answers. "How _much_ do you like her?"

"Too much," I whispered back. "More than she likes me. But I don't see how I can help that." I sighed, one blush blending into the next. 

Then, thankfully, Mr. Varner called on Jessica for an answer.

She didn't get a chance to start on the subject again during class, and as soon as the bell rang, I took evasive action.

"In English, Mike asked me if you said anything about Monday night," I told her.

"You're kidding! What did you say?!" she gasped, completely sidetracked. 

"I told him you said you had a lot of fun--he looked pleased."

"Tell me exactly what he said, and your exact answer!"

We spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on a minute description of Mike's facial expressions. I wouldn't have helped draw it out for as long as I did if I wasn't worried about the subject returning to me.

And then the bell rang for lunch. As I jumped up out of my seat, shoving my books roughly in my bag, my uplifted expression must have tipped Jessica off.

"You're not sitting with us today, are you?" she guessed with a smirk.

"I don't _think_ so." I couldn't be sure that she wouldn't disappear inconveniently again. "But don't worry, I'll sit back with you guys tomorrow." I added for her benefit. I hadn't forgotten her.

"Don't worry about it, you have your fun." Jessica looked excited, for me or for the upcoming lunch with Mike, I couldn't tell.

Outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the wall--looking more like a Greek goddess than anyone had a right to--Edythe was waiting for me. Jessica took one look, winked at me, and departed.

"See you later, Bella." Her voice was thick with implications. 

"Hello." Her voice was amused and irritated at the same time. She had been listening, it was obvious.

"Hi."

I couldn't think of anything else to say, and she didn't speak--biding her time, I presumed--so it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Edythe through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared. 

She led the way into the line, still not speaking, though her eyes returned to my face every few seconds, their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the dominant emotion in her face. I fidgeted nervously with the zipper on my jacket. 

She stepped up to the counter and filled a tray with food.

"What are you doing?" I objected. "You're not getting all that for me?"

She shook her head, stepping forward to buy the food.

"Half is for me, of course."

I raised one eyebrow.

She led the way to the same place we'd sat that one time before. From the other end fo the long table, a group of seniors gazed at us in amazement as we sat across each other. Edythe seemed oblivious.

"Take whatever you want," she said, pushing the tray toward me.

"I'm curious," I said as I picked up an apple, turning it around in my hands, "what would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"

"You're always curious." She grimaced, shaking her head. She glared at me, holding my eyes as she lifted the slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewed quickly, and then swallowed. I watched, eyes wide. 

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" she asked condescendingly.

I wrinkled my nose. "I did once. . . on a dare," I admitted. "It wasn't so bad."

She laughed. "I suppose i'm not surprised." Something over my shoulder seemed to catch her attention.

"Jessica's analyzing everything I do--she'll break it down for you later." She pushed the rest of the pizza toward me. The mention of Jessica brought a hint of her former irritation back to her features.

I put down the apple and took a bite of pizza, looking away, knowing she was about to start. 

"So the waitress was cute, was he?" she asked casually. 

"You really didn't notice?"

"No, I wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind."

"Poor guy." I could afford to be generous now.

"Something you said to Jessica. . . well, it bothered me." She refused to be distracted. Her voice was slightly husky, and she glanced up from under her long, black lashes with troubled eyes.

"I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdroppers," I reminded her.

"I warned you I would be listening."

"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."

"You did," she agreed, but her voice was still rough. "You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking--everything. I just wish. . . that you wouldn't be thinking some things."

I scowled. "That's quite a distinction."

"But that's not really the point at the moment."

"Then what is?" We were inclined toward each other across the table now. She had her small white hands folded under her chin; I leaned forward, my right hand cupped around my neck. I had to remind myself that we were in a crowded lunchroom, with probably many curious eyes on us. It was too easy to get wrapped up in our own private, tense little bubble.

"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" she murmured, leaning closer to me as she spoke, her dark golden eyes piercing. 

I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me.

"You're doing it again," I muttered.

Her eyes opened wide with surprise. "What?"

"Dazzling me," I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at her.

"Oh." She frowned.

"It's not your fault," I sighed. "You can't help it."

"Are you going to answer the question?"

I looked down. "Yes."

"Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" She was irritated again.

"Yes, I really do think that." I kept my eyes down on the table, my eyes tracing to pattern of the faux wood grains printed on the laminate. The silence dragged on. I stubbornly refused to be the first to break it this time, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at her expression.

Finally, she spoke, voice velvet soft. "You're wrong."

"You can't know that," I disagreed in a whisper. I shook my head in doubt, though my heart throbbed at her words and I wanted so badly to believe them.

"What makes you think so?" Her liquid topaz eyes were penetrating--trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight from my mind.

I stared back, struggling to think clearly in spite of her face, to find some way to explain. As I searched for the words, I could see her getting impatient; frustrated by my silence, she started to scowl. I lifted my hand from my neck, and held up one finger.

"Let me think," I insisted. Her expression cleared, now that she was satisfied that I was planning to answer. I dropped my hand to the table, moving my left hand so that my palms were pressed together. I stared at my hands, twisting and untwisting my fingers, as I finally spoke.

"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes. . ." I hesitated. "I can't be sure-- _I_ don't know how to read minds--but sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else." That was the best I could sum up the sensation of anguish that her words triggered in me at times.

"Perceptive," she whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as she confirmed my fear. "That's exactly why you're wrong, though," she began to explain, but then her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'the obvious'?"

"Well, look at me," I said, unnecessarily as she was already staring. "I'm absolutely ordinary--well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so clumsy that I'm almost disabled. And look at you." I waved my hand toward her and all her bewildering perfection.

Her brow creased angrily for a moment, then smoothed as her eyes took on a knowing look. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know. I'll admit you're dead-on about the bad things," she chuckled bleakly, "but you didn't hear what every human male and some females in this school was thinking on your first day."

I blinked, astonished. "I don't believe it. . .," I mumbled to myself. 

"Trust me just this once--you are the opposite of ordinary."

My embarrassment was much stronger than my pleasure at the look that came into her eyes when she said this. I quickly reminded her of my original argument. 

"But I'm not saying goodbye," I pointed out.

"Don't you see? That's exactly what probes me right. I care the most, because if I can do it"--she shook her head, seeming to struggle with the thought--"if leaving is the right thing to do, then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe."

I glared. "And you don't think I would do the same?"

"You'd never have to make the choice."

Abruptly, her unpredictable mood shifted again; a mischievous, devastating smile rearranged her features. "Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence."

"No one has tried to do away with me today," I reminded her, grateful for the lighter subject. I didn't want her to talk about goodbyes anymore. It made me immediately sad.

"Yet," she added.

"Yet," I agreed; I would have argued, but I really didn't have the heart to wipe that grin from her face.

"I have another question for you." Her face was abruptly casual.

"Shoot."

"Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?"

I made a face at the memory. "You know, I haven't forgiven you for the Taylor thing yet," I warned her. "It's your fault that she's deluded herself into thinking I'm going to prom with her."

"Oh, she would have found a chance to ask you without me--I just really wanted to watch your face," she giggled. I would have been angrier if her laughter wasn't so fascinating. "If I'd asked you, would you have turned _me_ down?" she asked, still laughing to herself.

"Probably not," I admitted. "But I would have canceled later--faked an illness or a sprained ankle." 

She was puzzled. "Why would you do that?"

I shook my head sadly. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you would understand."

"Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

"Obviously."

"That wouldn't be a problem." She was very confident. "It's all in the leading." She could see that I was about to protest, and she cut me off. "But you never told me--are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?"

As long as the 'we' part was in, I didn't care about anything else.

"I'm open to alternatives," I allowed. "But I do have a favor to ask."

She looked wary, as she always did when I asked an open-ended question. "What?"

"Can I drive?"

She frowned. "Why?"

"Well, mostly because when I told Charlie I was going to Seattle, he specifically asked if I was going alone, and , at the time, I was. If he asked again, I probably wouldn't lie, but I don't think he _will_ ask again, and leaving my truck at home would just bring up the subject unnecessarily. And also, because your driving frightens me."

She rolled her eyes. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving." She shook her head in amusement, but then her eyes were serious again. "Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?" There was an undercurrent to her question that I didn't understand.

"With Charlie, less is always more." I was definite about that. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"The weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye. . . and you can stay with me, if you'd like to." Again, she was leaving the choice up to me. 

"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" I asked, exited by the idea of unraveling another of the unknowns.

"Yes." She smiled, and then paused. "But if you don't want to be. . . alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size." 

I was miffed. "Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle--just in population. In physical size--"

"But apparently," she interrupted me, "your number wasn't up in Phoenix. So I'd rather you stayed near me." Her eyes did that unfair smoldering thing again. 

I couldn't argue, with the eyes or the motivation, and it was a moot point anyway. "As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."

"I know," she sighed, brooding. "You should tell Charlie, though."

"Why in the world would I do that?"

Her eyes were suddenly fierce. "To give me some small incentive to bring you back."

I gulped. But, after a moment of thought, I was sure. "I think I'll take my chances."

She exhaled in frustration, and looked away.

"Let's talk about something else," I suggested.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked.

I glanced around us, making sure we were well out of anyone's hearing. As I cast my eyes around the room, I caught the eyes of her sister, Alice, staring at me. The others were looking at Edythe. I looked away swiftly, back to her, and I asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend. . . to hunt? Charlie said it wasn't a good place to like, because of bears."

She stared at me as if I was missing something very obvious.

"Bears?" I gasped, and she smirked. "You know, bears are not in season," I added sternly, to hide my shock. I tried to imagine, small Edythe, taking on a full sized bear. I couldn't imagine it. 

"If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons," she informed me.

She watched my face with enjoyment as that slowly sank in.

"Bears?" I repeated with difficulty. 

"Grizzly is Emmett's favorite." Her voice was still off-hand, but her eyes were scrutinizing my reaction. I tried to pull myself together. 

"Hmmm," I said, taking another bite of my pizza as an excuse to look down. I chewed slowly, and then took a long drink of Coke without looking up.

"So," I said after a moment, finally meeting her now-anxious gaze. "What's your favorite?"

She raised an eyebrow and the corners of her mouth turned down in disapproval. "Mountain lion."

"Ah," I said in a politely disinterested tone, looking for my soda again.

"Of course," she said, and her tone mirrored mine, "we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators--ranging as far away as we need. There's always plenty of deep and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?" She smiled teasingly.

"Where indeed," I murmured around another bite of pizza.

"Early spring is Emmett's favorite bear season--they're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable." She smiled at some remembered joke. 

"Nothing more fun than an irritated grizzly-bear," I agreed, nodding.

She snickered, shaking her head. "Tell me what you're really thinking. Please."

"I'm trying to picture it--but I can't," I admitted. "How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"

"Oh, we have weapons." She flashed her bright teeth in a brief, threatening smile. I fought back a shiver before it could expose me. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Emmett hunting."

I couldn't stop the next shiver that flashed down my spine. I peeked across the cafeteria toward Emmett, grateful that he wasn't looking my way. The thick bands of muscle that wrapped his arms and torso were somehow even more menacing now.

Edythe followed my gaze and chuckled. I stared at her, unnerved. 

"Are you like a bear, too?" I asked in a low voice.

"More like a lion, or so they tell me," she said lightly. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

I tried to smile. "Perhaps," I repeated. But my mind was filled with opposing images that I couldn't merge together. "Is that something I might get to see?"

Her face froze suddenly, turning whiter than usual, and I could tell she was trying to control herself from a reaction to my words. 

"I don't think that would be a good idea." She eventually gritted out through a tight jaw.

"Too scary for me?" I asked in a controlled tone.

"If that were it, I would take you out tonight," she said, voice incredulous.

"Then why?" I pressed, trying to ignore her tense expression.

She looked at me for a long moment.

"Later," she finally said. She was on her feet in one little movement. "We're going to be late."

I glanced around, startled to see that she was right and the cafeteria was nearly vacant. When I was with her, the time and the place were such a muddled blur that I completely lost track of both. I jumped up, grabbing my bag from the back of my chair.

"Later then," I agreed. I wouldn't forget.


	12. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on Tumblr @ legere-librum for updates!

Everyone watched us as we walked together to our lab table. I noticed that she no longer angled the chair to sit as far from me as the desk would allow. Instead, she sat quite close beside me, our arms almost touching. 

Mr. Banner backed into the room then--what superb timing the man had--pulling a tall metal frame on wheels that held a heavy-looking, outdated TV and VCR. A movie day--the lift in the class atmosphere was almost tangible. 

Mr. Banner shoved the tape into the reluctant VCR and walked to the wall to turn off the lights.

And then, as the room went black, I was suddenly hyperaware that Edythe was sitting less than an inch form me. I was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be _more_ aware of her than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over and touch her, to stroke her perfect face just once in the darkness, nearly overwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my hands balling into fists. I was loosing my mind. 

The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes, of their own accord, flickered to her. I smiled sheepishly as I realized her posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under her arms, right down to the eyes, peering sideways at me. She grinned back, her eyes somehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before I could start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I should feel dizzy. 

The hour seemed very long. I couldn't concentrate on the movie--I didn't even know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, but the electric current that seemed to be organizing from somewhere in her body never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glance in her direction, but she never seemed to relax, either. The overpowering caring to touch her also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safely against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort. 

I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner flicked the lights back on at the end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing my stiff fingers. Edythe chuckled beside me. 

"Well, that was interesting," she murmured. Her voice was confused and her eyes were cautious. 

"Ummm," was all I was able to respond.

"Shall we?" she asked, riding fluidly.

I almsot groaned. Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balance might have been affected by the strange new intensity between us.

She walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turned to say goodbye. Her face startled me--her expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch her flared as strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat.

She raised her hand, hesitant, conflict raging in her eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with her fingertips. Her skin was as icy as ever, but the trail her fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm--like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet.

She turned without a word and strode quickly away from me.

I walked into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly. I drifted to the locker room, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there were other people surrounding me. Reality didn't fully set in until I was handed a racket. It wasn't heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in my hand. I could see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. Coach Clapp ordered us to pair up into teams. 

Mercifully, some vestiges of Mike's chivalry still survived; he came to stand beside me.

"Do you want to be a team?"

"Thanks, Mike--you don't have to do this, you know." I grimaced apologetically. 

"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way." He grinned. Sometimes it was so easy to like Mike.

It didn't go smoothly. I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with my racket and clip Mike's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest of the hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held safely behind my back. Despite being handicapped by me, Mike was pretty good; he won three games our of four singlehandedly. He gave me an unearned high five when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class.

"So," he said as we walked off the court.

"So what?"

"You and Cullen, huh?" he asked, his tone rebellious. My previous feeling of affection disappeared. 

"That's none of your business, Mike," I warned, internally cursing Jessica straight to the fiery pits of Hades.

"I don't like it," he murmured anyway.

"You don't have to," I snapped.

"She looks at you like. . . like you're something to eat," he continued, ignoring me.

I choked back the hysteria that threatened to explode, but a small giggle managed to get out despite my efforts. He glowered at me. I waved and fled to the locker room.

I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies battering recklessly against the walls of my stomach, my argument with Mike already a distant memory. I was wondering if Edythe would be waiting, or if I should meet her at her car. What if her family was there? I felt a wave of real terror. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that they knew that I knew, or not? 

By the time I walked out of gum, I had just decided to walk straight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worries were unnecessary. Edythe was waiting, leaning casually against the side of the gym, her breathtaking face untroubled now. As I walked to her side, I felt a peculiar sense of release.

"Hi," I breathed, smiling hugely.

"Hello." Her answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"

My face fell a tiny bit. "Fine," I lied.

"Really?" She was unconvinced. Her eyes shifted their focus slightly, looking over my shoulder and narrowing. I glanced behind me to see Mike's back as he walked away.

"What?" I demanded.

Her eyes slid back to mine, still tight. "Newton's getting on my nerves."

"You weren't listening again?" I was horror-struck. All traces of my sudden good humor vanished. 

"How's your head?" she asked innocently.

"You're unbelievable!" I turned, stomping away in the general direction of the parking lot, though I hadn't ruled out walking at this point.

She kept up with me easily.

"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym--it made me curious." She didn't sound repentant, so I ignored her.

We walked in silence--a furious, embarrassed silence on my part--to her car. But I had to stop a few steps away--a crowd of people, all boys, were surrounding it. Then I realized they weren't surrounding the Volvo, they were actually circled around Rosalie's red convertible, unmistakable lust in their eyes. None of them even looked up as Edythe slid between them to open her door. I climbed quickly into the passenger side, also unnoticed. 

"Ostentatious," she muttered.

"What kind of car is that?" I asked.

"An M3."

"I don't speak _Car and Driver_."

"It's a BMW." She rolled her eyes, not looking at me, trying to back out without running over the car enthusiasts.

I nodded--I'd heard of that one.

"Are you still angry?" she asked as she carefully maneuvered her way out.

"Definitely."

She sighed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?"

"Maybe. . . if you mean it. _And_ if you promise not to do it again," I insisted.

Her eyes were suddenly screwed. "How about if I mean it, _and_ I agree to let you drive Saturday?" she countered my conditions.

I considered, and decided it was probably the best offer I would get. "Deal," I agreed.

"Then I'm very sorry I upset you." Her eyes burned with sincerity for a protracted moment--playing havoc with the rhythm of my heart--and then turned playful. "And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning."

"Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway."

Her smile was full of humor. "I wasn't intending to bring a car."

"How--"

She cut me off. "Don't worry about it, I'll be there, no car."

I let it go. I had a more pressing question.

"Is it later yet?" I asked significantly.

She frowned. "I suppose it is later."

I kept my expression polite as I waited.

She stopped the car. I looked up, surprised--of course we were already at Charlie's house, parked behind the truck. It was easier to ride with her if I only looked when it was over. When I looked back at her, she was staring at me, measuring me with her eyes.

"And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?" She seemed solemn, but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in her eyes.

"Well," I clarified, "I was mostly wondering about your reaction."

"Did I frighten you?" Yes, there was definitely humor there.

"No," I lied. She didn't buy it.

"I apologize for scaring you," she persisted with a slight smile, but then all evidence of teasing disappeared. "It was just the very thought of you being there. . . while we hunted." Her jaw clenched. 

"That would be bad?"

She took a deep breath, and I could tell she was controlling her anger. "Extremely."

"Because. . . ?"

She took another deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick, rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach.

"When we hunt," she spoke slowly, unwillingly, "we give ourselves over to our senses. . . govern less with our minds. Especially our senses of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way. . ." She shook her head, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds.

I kept my expression firmly under control, expecting the swift flash of her eyes to judge my reaction that soon followed. My face gave nothing away. 

But our eyes held, and the silence deepened--and changed. Flickers of the electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as she gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started to swim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath, breaking the stillness, she closed her eyes.

"Bella, I think you should go inside now." Her low voice was rough, her eyes on the clouds again.

I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped clear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I stepped carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.

"Oh, Bella?" she called after me, her voice more even. She learned toward the open window with a faint smile on her lips.

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

She smiled wider, flashing her stunning dimples and gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."

And then she was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as I walked to the house. It was clear she was planing to see me tomorrow, if nothing else.

That night Edythe starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate of my unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity that had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly, waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When I woke I was still tired, but edgy as well. I pulled on my brown turtleneck and the inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed of spaghetti straps and shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event I expected. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I wondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday. He answered my unspoken question as he stood up to take his plate to the sink.

"About this Saturday. . . ," he began, walking across the kitchen and turning on the faucet.

I cringed. "Yes, Dad?"

"Are you still set on going to Seattle?" he asked.

"That was the plan." I grimaced, wishing he hadn't brought it up so I wouldn't have to compose careful half-truths.

He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the brush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?" 

"I'm not going to the dance, Dad." I glared.

"Didn't anyone ask you?" he asked, trying to hide his concern by focusing on rinsing the plate.

I sidestepped the minefield. "It's a girl's choice."

"Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate.

I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; living in fear that your daughter would meet someone she liked, but also having to worry if she didn't. How ghastly it would be, I thought, shuddering, if Charlie had even the slightest inkling of exactly what I _did_ like. 

I wasn't sure if I should tell him, or not. I knew he was wasn't homophobic, he was supportive of the family's here in Forks who were out, but I knew that sometimes being supportive of non-family members, and having a family member who is gay, are different things. My mom had told me that she believed that he would be fine with it. But I was still nervous.

Charlie left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could only wait a few seconds before I had to peek out of my window. The silver car was already there, waiting in Charlie's spot on the driveway. I bounded down the stairs and out the front door, wondering how long this bizarre routine would continue. I never wanted it to end. 

She waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me without bothering to lock the deadbolt. I walked to the car, pausing shyly before opening the door and stepping in. She was smiling, relaxed--and, as usual, perfect and beautiful to an excruciating degree.

"Good morning." Her voice was silky. "How are you today?" Her eyes roamed over my face, as if her question was something more than simple courtesy. 

"Good, thank you," I was always good--much more than good--when I was with her.

Her gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. "You look tired."

"I couldn't sleep," I confessed, automatically swinging my hair around my shoulder to provide some measure of cover.

"Neither could I," she teased as she started the engine. I was becoming used to the quiet purr. I was sure the roar of my truck would scare me, whenever I got to drive it again. 

I laughed. "I guess that's right. I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did."

"I'd wager you did."

"So what did you do last night?" I asked.

She giggled. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?" My forehead creased. I couldn't imagine anything about me that could be in any way interesting to her.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, her face grave.

I rolled my eyes. "It changes from day to day."

"What's your favorite color today?" She was still solemn.

"Probably brown." I tended to dress according to my mood.

She snorted, dropping her serious expression. "Brown?" she asked skeptically.

"Sure. Brown is warm. I _miss_ brown. Everything that's supposed to be brown--tree trunks, rocks, dirt--is all covered up with squashy green stuff here," I complained. 

She seemed fascinated by my little rant. She considered for a moment, stating into my eyes.

"You're right," she decided, serious again. "Brown is warm." She reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitantly, to sweep my hair back behind my shoulder.

We were at the school by now. She turned back to me as she pulled into a parking space.

"What music is in your CD player right now?" she asked, her face as somber as if she'd asked for a murder confession. 

I realized I'd never removed the CD Phil had given me. When I said the name of the band, her dimples reappeared, a peculiar expression in her eyes. She flipped open a compartment under her car's CD player, pulled out one of thirty or so CDs that were jammed into the small space, and handed it to me.

"Debussy to this?" She raised an eyebrow.

It was the same CD. I examined the familiar cover art, keeping my eyes down.

It continued like that for the rest of the day. While she walked me to English, when she met me after Spanish, all through the lunch hour, she questioned me relentlessly about every insignificant detail of my existence. Movies I'd liked and hated, the few places I'd been and the many places I wanted to go, and books--endlessly books. 

I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. More often than not, I felt self-conscious, certain I must be boring her. But the absolute absorption of her face, and her never-ending steam of questions, compelled me to continue. Mostly her questions were easy, only a very few triggering my easy blushes. But when I did flush, it brought on a whole new round of questions. 

Such as the time she asked my favorite gemstone, and I blurted out topaz before thinking. She'd been flinging questions at me with speed that I felt like I was taking one of those psychiatric tests where you answer with he first word that comes to mind. I was sure she would have continued down whatever mental list she was following, except for the blush. My face reddened because, until very recently, my favorite gemstone was garnet. It was impossible, while staring back into her topaz eyes, not to remember the reason for the switch. And, naturally, he wouldn't rest until I'd admitted why I was embarrassed. 

"Tell me," she finally commanded after persuasion failed--failed only because I kept my eyes safely away from her face.

"It's the color of your eyes today," I sighed, surrendering, staring down at my hands as I fiddled with a piece of my hair. "I suppose if you asked me in two weeks I'd say onyx." I'd given more information than necessary in my unwilling honesty, and I worried it would provide the strange anger that flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed I was.

But her pause was very short.

"What kinds of flowers do you prefer?" she fired off.

I sighed in relief, and continued with the psychoanalysis.

Biology was a complication again. Edythe had continued with her quizzing up until Mr. Banner entered the room, dragging the audiovisual frame again. As the teacher approached the light switch, I noticed Edythe slide her chair slightly farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as the room was dark, there was the same electric spark, the same restless craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch her cold skin, as yesterday.

I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my folded arms, my hidden fingers gripping the table's edge as I fought to ignore the irrational longing that unsettled me. I didn't look at her, afraid that if she was looking at me, it would only make self-control that much harder. I sincerely tried too watch the movie, but at the end of the hour I had no idea what I'd just seen. I sighed in relief again when Mr. Banner turned the lights on, finally glancing at Edythe; she was looking at me, her eyes ambivalent.

She rose in silence and then stood still, waiting for me. We walked toward the gym in silence, like yesterday. And, also like yesterday, she touched my face wordlessly--this time with the back of her cool hand, stroking once from my temple to my jaw--before she turned and walked away.

Gym passed quickly as I watched Mike's one-man badminton show. She didn't speak to me today, either in response to my vacant expression or because he was still angry about about our squabble yesterday. Somewhere, in a corner of my mind, I felt bad about that. But I couldn't concentrate on him. 

I hurried to change afterward, ill at ease, knowing the faster I moved, the sooner I would be with Edythe. The pressure made me more clumsy than usual, but eventually I made it out the door, feeling the same release when I saw her standing there, a wide smile automatically spreading across my face. She smiled in reaction before launching into more cross-examination.

Her questions were different now, though, not as easily answered. She wanted to know what  I missed about home, insisting on descriptions of anything she wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Charlie's house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden deluge.

I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote--bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant--the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me--to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead, a beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I tried to describe it to her. 

Her quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting, in the dim lights of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered room at home, she paused instead of responding with another question. 

"Are you finished?" I asked in relief.

"Not even close--but your father will be home soon."

"Charlie!" I suddenly recalled his existence, and sighed. I looked out at the rain-darkened sky, but it gave nothing away. "How late is it?" I wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time--Charlie would be driving home now.

"It's twilight," Edythe murmured, looking at the western horizon, obscured as it was with clouds. Her voice was thoughtful, as if her mind were somewhere far away. I stared at her as she gazed unseeingly out the windshield. 

I was still staring when her eyes suddenly shifted back to mine. 

"It's the safest time of day for us," she said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way. . . the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" She smiled wistfully.

"I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars." I frowned.  "Not that you see them here much."

She laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened.

"Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday. . ." She raised one eyebrow.

"Thanks, but no thanks." I gathered my books, realizing I was stiff from sitting still so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"

"Certainly not!" Her face was teasingly outraged. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"What more is there?"

"You'll find out tomorrow." She reached across to open my door for me, and her sudden proximity sent my heart into frenzied palpitations.

But her hand froze on the handle.

"Not good," she muttered.

"What is it?" I was surprised to see that her jaw was clenched, her eyes disturbed.

She glanced at me for a brief second. "Another complication," she said glumly.

She flung the door open in one swift movement, and then moved, almost cringed, swiftly away from me. 

The flash of headlights through the rain caught my attention as a dark car pulled up to the curb just a few feet away, facing us.

"Charlie's around the corner," she warned, staring though the downpour at the other vehicle. 

I hopped out at once, despite my confusion and curiosity. The rain was louder as it glanced off my jacket.

I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it was too dark. I could see Edythe illuminated in the glare of the new car's head-lights; she was still staring ahead, her gaze locked on something or someone I couldn't see. Her expression was a strange mix of frustration and defiance. 

Then she revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet pavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds.

"Hey, Bella," called a familiar, husky voice from the driver's side of the little black car.

"Julie?" I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Charlie's cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of the car in front of me.

Julie was already climbing out, her wide grin visible even through the darkness. In the passenger seat was a much older man, a heavyset man with a memorable face--a face that overflowed, the cheeks resting against his shoulder, with creases running through the russet skin like an old leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad face they were set in. Julie's father, Billy Black. I knew him immediately, though in the more than five years since I'd seen him last I'd managed to forget his name when Charlie had spoken of him my first day here. He was staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at him. His eyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, his nostrils flared. My smile faded.

Another complication, Edythe had said.

Billy still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. I groaned internally. Had Billy recognized Edythe so easily? Could he really believe the impossible legends his daughter had scoffed at?

The answer was clear in Billy's eyes. Yes. Yes, he could. 


	13. Balancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my Tumblr for updates- legere-librum

"Billy!" Charlie called as soon as he got out of the car. 

I turned toward the house, beckoning to Julie as I ducked under the porch. I heard Charlie greeting them loudly behind me.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't see you behind the wheel, Jules," he said disapprovingly.

"We get permits early on the Rez," Julie said while I unlocked the door and flicked on the porch light.

"Sure you do," Charlie laughed.

"I have to get around somehow." I recognized Billy's voice easily, despite the years. The sound of it made me feel suddenly younger, a child. 

I went inside, leaving the door open behind me and turning on lights before I hung up my jacket. Then I stood in the door, watching anxiously as Charlie and Julie helped Billy out of the car and into his wheelchair.

I backed out of the way as the three of them hurried in, shaking off the rain. 

"This is a surprise," Charlie was saying.

"It's been too long," Billy answered. "I hope it's not a bad time." His dark eyes flashed up to me again, their expression unreadable. 

"No, it's great. I hope you can stay for the game."

Julie grinned. "I think that's the plan--our TV broke last week."

Billy made a face at his daughter, "And, of course, Julie was anxious to see Bella again," he added. Julie scowled and ducked her head while I fought back a surge of remorse. Maybe I'd been too convincing on the beach.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, turning toward the kitchen. I was eager to escape Billy's searching gaze. 

"Nah, we ate just before were came," Julie answered.

"How about you, Dad?" I called over my shoulder as I Feld around the corner.

"Sure," he replied, his voice moving in the direction of the front room and the TV. I could hear Billy's chair follow. 

The grilled cheese sandwiches were in the frying pan and I was slicing up a tomato when I sensed someone behind me.

"So, how are things?" Julie asked.

"Pretty good," I smiled. Her enthusiasm was hard to resist. "How about you? Did you finish your car?" 

"No." She frowned. "I still need parts. We borrowed that one." She pointed with her thumb in the direction of the front yard. 

"Sorry. I haven't seen any. . . what was it you were looking for?"

"Master cylinder." She grinned. "Is something wrong with the truck?" she asked suddenly.

"No."

"Oh. I just wondered because you weren't driving it."

I stared down at the pan, pulling up the edge of a sandwich to check the bottom side. "I got a ride with a friend."

"Nice ride." Julie's voice was admiring. "I didn't recognize the driver, though. I thought I knew most of the kids around here."

I nodded noncommittally, keeping my eyes down as I flipped sandwiches. 

"My dad seemed to know her from somewhere."

"Julie, could you hand me some plates? They're in the cupboard over the sink." 

"Sure."

She got the plates in silence. I hoped she would let it drop now.

"So who was it?" she asked, setting two plates on the counter next to me.

I sighed in defeat. "Edythe Cullen." 

To my surprise, she laughed. I glanced up at her. She looked a little embarrassed. 

"Guess that explains it, then," she said. "I wondered why my dad was acting so strange."

"That's right." I faked an innocent expression. "He doesn't like the Cullens."

"Superstitious old man," Julie muttered under her breath.

"You don't think he'd say anything to Charlie?" I couldn't help asking, the words coming out in a low rush. 

Julie stared at me for a moment, and I couldn't read the expression in her dark eyes. "I doubt it," she finally answered. "I think Charlie chewed her out pretty good last time. They haven't spoken much since--tonight is sort of a reunion, I think. I don't think he'd bring it up again."

"Oh," I said, trying to sound indifferent.

I stayed in the front room after I carried the food out to Charlie, pretending to watch the game while Julie chattered at me. I was really listening to the men's conversation, watching for any sign that Billy was about to rat me out, trying to think of ways to stop him if he began.

It was a long night. I had a lot of homework that was going undone, but I was afraid to leave Billy alone with Charlie. Finally, the game ended.

"Are you and your friends coming back to the beach soon?" Julie asked as she pushed her father over the lip of the threshold.

"I'm not sure," I hedged.

"That was fun, Charlie," Billy said.

"Come up for the next game," Charlie encouraged.

"Sure, sure," Billy said. "We'll be here. Have a good night." His eyes shifted to mine, and his smile disappeared. "You take care, Bella," he added seriously.

"Thanks," I muttered, looking away.

I headed for the stairs while Charlie waved from the doorway.

"Wait, Bella," he said.

I cringed. Had Billy gotten something in before I'd joined them in the living room?

But Charlie was relaxed, still grinning from the unexpected visit.

"I didn't get a chance to talk to you tonight. How was your day?"

"Good," I hesitated with one foot on the first stair, searching for details I could safely share. "My badminton team won all four games." 

"Wow, I didn't know you could play badminton."

"Well, actually I can't, but my partner is really good," I admitted.

"Who is it?" he asked with token interest.

"Um. . . Mike Newton," I told him reluctantly. 

"Oh yeah--you said you were friends with the Newton kid." He perked up. "Nice family." He mused for a minute. "Why didn't you ask him to the dance this weekend?"

"Dad!" I groaned. "He's dating my friend Jessica. Besides, you know I can't dance." I panicked for a moment, wondering if I should use this time to tell him. Then reconsidered. It was late, and I needed to finish my homework. 

"Oh yeah," he muttered. Then he smiled at me apologetically. "So I guess it's good you'll be gone Saturday. . . I've made plans to go fishing with the guys from the station. The weather's supposed to be real warm. But if you wanted to put your trip off till someone could go with you, I'd stay home. I know I leave you here alone too much."

"Dad, you're doing a great job." I smiled, hoping my relief didn't show. "I've never minded being alone--I'm too much like you." I winked at him, and he smiled his crinkly-eyed smile. 

 

I slept better that night, too tired to dream again. When I woke to the pearl gray morning, my mood was blissful. The tense evening with Billy and Jacob seemed harmless enough now; I decided to forget it completely. I caught myself whistling while I was pulling the front part of my hair back into a barrette, and later again as I skipped down the stairs. Charlie noticed. 

"You're cheerful this morning," he commented over breakfast.

I shrugged. "It's Friday." I hurried so I would be ready to go the second Charlie left. I had my bag ready, shoes on, teeth brushed, but even though I rushed to the door as soon as I was sure Charlie would be out of sight, Edythe was faster. She was waiting in her shiny car, windows down, engine off. 

I didn't hesitate this time, climbing in the passenger side quickly, the sooner to see her face. She grinned her dimpled smile at me, stopping my breath and my heart. I couldn't imagine how an angel could be any more glorious. There was nothing about her that could be improved upon. 

"How did you sleep?" she asked. I wondered if she had any idea how appealing her voice was. 

"Fine. How was your night?"

"Pleasant." Her smile was amused; I felt like I was missing an inside joke. 

"Can I ask what you did?" I asked.

"No." She grinned. "Today is still _mine_." 

She wanted to know about people today: more about Renée, her hobbies, what we'd done in our free time together. And then the one grandmother I'd known, my few school friends--embarrassing me when she asked about girls I'd dated. I was relieved that I'd never really dated anyone, so that particular conversation couldn't last long. She seemed as surprised as Jessica and Angela by my lack of romantic history.

"So you never met anyone you wanted?" she asked in a serious tone that made me wonder what she was thinking about.

I was grudgingly honest. "Not in Phoenix."

Her lips pressed together into a line.

We were in the cafeteria at this point. The day had sped by in the blur that was rapidly becoming routine. I took advantage of her brief pause to take a bit of my bagel. 

"I should have let you drive yourself today," she announced, apropos of nothing, while I chewed.

"Why?" I demanded.

"I'm leaving with Alice after lunch." 

"Oh." I blinked, bewildered and disappointed. "That's okay, it's not that far of a walk." 

She frowned at me impatiently. "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your truck and leave it here for you." 

"I don't have my key with me," I sighed. "I really don't mind walking." What I minded was losing my time with her.

She shook her head. "Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition--unless you're afraid someone might steal it." She laughed at the thought.

"All right," I agreed, pursing my lips. I was pretty sure my key was in the pocket of a pair of jeans I wore Wednesday, under a pile of clothes in the laundry room. Even if she broke into my house, or whatever she was planning, she'd never find it. She seemed to feel the challenge in my consent. She smirked, overconfident. 

"So where are you going?" I asked as casually as I could manage.

"Hunting," she answered grimly. "If I'm going to be alone with you tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." Her face grew morse. . . and pleading. "You can always cancel, you know."

I looked down, afraid fo the persuasive power of her eyes. I refused to be convinced to fear her, no matter how real the danger might be. _It doesn't matter,_ I repeated in my head. 

"No," I whispered, glancing back at her face. "I can't."

"Perhaps you're right," she murmured bleakly. Her eyes seemed to darken in color as I watched.

I changed the subject. "What time will I see you tomorrow?" I asked, already depressed by the thought of her leaving now.

"That depends. . . it's a Saturday, don't you want to sleep in?" she offered.

"No," I answered too fast. She restrained a smile.

"The same time as usual, then," she decided. "Will Charlie be there?"

"No, he's fishing tomorrow." I beamed at the memory of how conveniently things had worked out. 

Her voice turned sharp. "And if you don't come home, what will he think?" 

"I have no idea," I answered coolly. "He knows I've been meaning to do the laundry. Maybe he'll think I fell in the washer."

She scowled at me and I scowled back. Her scowl was much more impressive than mine. 

"What are you hunting tonight?" I asked when I was sure I had lost the glowering contest. 

"Whatever we find in the park. We aren't going far." She seemed bemused by my casual reference to her secret realities. 

"Why are you going with Alice?" I wondered.

"Alice is the most. . . supportive." She frowned as she spoke.

"And the others?" I asked timidly. "What are they?"

Her brow puckered for a brief moment. "Incredulous, for the most part." 

I peeked quickly behind me at her family. They sat staring off in different directions, exactly the same as the first time I'd seen them. Only now they were four, their beautiful, bronze-haired sister sat across from me, her golden eyes troubled. 

"They don't like me," I guessed. 

"That's not it," she disagreed, but her eyes were too innocent. "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."

I grimaced. "Neither do I, for that matter."

Edythe shook her head slowly, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling before she met my gaze again. "I told you--you don't see yourself clearly at all. You're not like anyone I've ever known. You fascinate me."

I glared at her, sure she was teasing now.

She smiled as she deciphered my expression. "Having the advantages I do," she murmured, touching her forehead discreetly, "I have a better than average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you. . . you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise." 

I looked away, my eyes wandering back to her family, embarrassed and dissatisfied. Her words made me feel like a science experiment. I wanted to laugh at myself for expecting anything else.

"That part is easy enough to explain," she continued. I felt her eyes on my face but I couldn't look at her yet, afraid she might read the chagrin in my eyes. "But there's more. . . and it's not so easy to put into words--"

I was still staring at the Cullens while she spoke. Suddenly Rosalie, her blond and breathtaking sister, turned to look at me. No, not to look--to glare, with dark, cold eyes. I wanted to look away, but her gaze held me until Edythe broke off mid-sentence and made an angry noise under her breath. It was almost a hiss. 

Rosalie turned her head, and I was relieved to be free. I looked back at Edythe--and I knew she could see the confusion and fear that widened my eyes. Her face was tight as she explained. "I'm sorry about that. She's just worried. You see. . . it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly. . ." She looked down.

"If?"

"If this ends. . . badly." She dropped her head into her hands, as she had that night in Port Angeles. Her anguish was plain; I yearned to comfort her, but I was at a loss to know how. My hand arched toward her involuntarily; quickly, though, I dropped it to the table, fearing that my touch would only make things worse. I realized slowly that her words should frighten me. I waited for that fear to come, but all I could seem to feel was an ache for her pain. 

And frustration--frustration that Rosalie had interrupted whatever she was about to say. I didn't know how to bring it up again. She still had her head in her hands.

I tried to speak in a normal voice. "And you have to leave now?"

"Yes." She raised her face; it was serious for a moment, and then her mood shifted and she smiled. "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology--I don't think I could take any more." 

I started. Alice--her short, inky hair in a halo of spiky disarray around her exquisite, elfin face--was suddenly standing beside Edythe's shoulder. Her slight frame was so willowy, graceful even in absolute stillness.

She greeted her without looking away from me. "Alice."

"Edythe," she answered, her high soprano voice almost as attractive as Edythe's contralto. 

"Alice, Bella--Bella, Alice," she introduced us, gesturing casually with her hand, a wry smile on her face. 

"Hello, Bella." Her brilliant obsidian eyes were unreadable, but her smile was friendly. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Edythe flashed a dark look at her.

"Hi, Alice," I murmured shyly.

"Are you ready?" she asked Edythe.

Her voice was aloof. "Nearly. I'll meet you at the car."

Alice left without another word; her walk was so fluid, so sinuous that I felt a sharp pang of jealously.

"Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?" I asked, turning back to her with a grin.

"No, 'have fun' works as well as anything." She grinned back at me.

"Have fun, then." I worked to sound wholehearted. Of course I didn't fool her.

"I'll try." She still grinned. "And you try to be safe, please."

"Safe in Forks--what a challenge."

"For you it _is_ a challenge." Her eyes smoldered as a slight frown crossed her features. "Promise me, please?"

"I promise to try to be safe," I recited. "I'll do the laundry tonight--that ought to be fraught with peril."

"Don't fall in," she mocked with a smirk. 

"I'll do my best." 

She stood then, and I rose, too.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I sighed. 

"It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?" she mused.

I nodded glumly.

"I'll be there in the morning." she promised, smiling her dimpled smile. She reached across the table to touch my face, lightly brushing along my cheekbone again. Then she turned and walked away. I stared after her until she was gone. 

I was sorely tempted to ditch the rest of the day, at the very least Gym, but a warning instinct stopped me. I knew that if I disappeared now, Mike and others would assume I was with Edythe. And Edythe was worried about the time we'd spent together publicly. . . if things went wrong. I refused to dwell on the last thought, concentrating instead on getting to Biology. 

I intuitively knew--and sensed she did, too--that tomorrow would be pivotal. Our relationship couldn't continue to balance, as it did, on the point of a knife. We would fall off one edge or the other, depending entirely upon her decision. My decision was made, made before I'd ever consciously chosen, and was committed to seeing it through. Because there was nothing more terrifying to me, more excruciating, than the thought of turning away from her. It was an impossibility. I shook my head; I was being melodramatic. 

I got to class, feeling dutiful. I couldn't honestly say what happened in Biology; my mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow. In Gym, Mike was speaking to me again; he wished me a good time in Seattle. I carefully explained that I'd canceled my trip, worried about my truck.

"Are you going to the dace with Cullen?" he asked, suddenly sulky.

"No, I'm not going to the dance at all."

"What are you doing, then?" he asked, too interested. 

My natural urge was to tell him to butt out. But I didn't want to be too rude. After all, it seemed like he had just forgiven me for the other day. Instead, I lied brightly. 

"Laundry, and then I have to study for the Trig test or I'm going to fail."

"Is Cullen helping you study?"

"Actually, yes. _Edythe_ is going to help me." I was tired of his jealousy, why couldn't he understand?

"Oh." He said glumly. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. 

When the school day had finally ended, I walked to the parking lot without enthusiasm. I did not especially want to walk home, but I couldn't see how she would have retrieved my truck. Then again, I was starting to believe that nothing was impossible for her. The latter instinct proved correct-- my truck sat in the same space she'd parked her Volvo in this morning. I shook my head, incredulous, as I opened the unlocked door and saw the key in the ignition.

There was a piece of white paper folded on my seat. I got in and closed the door before I unfolded it. Two words were written in her elegant script. 

_**Be Safe** _

The sound of the truck roaring to life frightened me. I laughed at myself. 

When I got home, the handle of the door was locked, the dead bolt unlocked, just as I'd left it this morning. Inside, I went straight to the laundry room. It looked just the same as I'd left it, too. I dug for my jeans and, after finding them, checked the pockets. Empty. Maybe I'd hung my key up after all, I thought, shaking my head.

I was running out of things to do, and the house felt too quiet around me. I called Jessica, hoping she would be willing to have a conversation to occupy my mind. I wished her luck at the dance. When she offered the same wish for my day with Edythe, I was reminded about the night ahead, stuck thinking about her. We chatted for a while, I was trying to fill up as much time before I had to start dinner. But Jessica had to say goodbye soon after, she had to check up on plans with Angela about tomorrow. 

Charlie was absentminded at dinner, worried over something at work, I guessed, or Mayne a basketball game, or maybe her was just really enjoying the lasagna--it was hard to tell with Charlie.

I listened to his reverie in silence, thoughts preoccupied with Edythe; as always. I debated on using this moment to tell him. But I still wasn't sure, by this time though, my hesitation to come out to him was more avoiding the long conversation than worried about his reaction. I decided it could wait for another day.

After dinner, I folded clothes and moved another load through the dryer. Unfortunately it was the kind job that only keeps hands busy. My mind definitely had too much from time, and it was getting out of control. I fluctuated between anticipation so intense that it was very nearly pain, and an insidious fear that picked at my resolve. I had to keep reminding myself that I'd made my choice, and I wasn't going back on it. I pulled her note out of my pocket much more often than necessary to absorb the two small words she'd written. She wants me to be safe, I told myself again and again. I would just hold on to the faith that, in the end, that desire would win out over the others. And what was my other choice--to cut her out of my life? Intolerable. Besides, since I'd come to Forks, it really seemed like my life was better _because_ of her. 

But a tiny voice in the back of my mind worried, wondering if it would hurt _very_ much. . . if it ended badly. 

I was relieved when it was late enough to be acceptable for bedtime. I knew I was far too stressed to sleep, so I did something I'd never down before. I deliberately took unnecessary cold medicine--the kind that knocked me out for a good eight hours. I normally wouldn't condone that type of behavior in myself, but tomorrow would be complicated enough without me being loopy from sleep deprivation on top of everything else. While I waited for the drugs to kick in, I dried my clean hair till it was impeccably straight, and fussed over what I would wear tomorrow. 

With everything ready for the morning, I finally lay in my bed. I felt hyper; I couldn't stop twitching. I got up and rifled through my shoebox of CDs until I found a collection of Chopin's nocturnes. I put that on very quietly and then lay down again, concentrating on relaxing individual parts of my body. Somewhere in the middle of that exercise, the cold pills took effect, and I gladly sank into unconsciousness. 

 

I woke early, having slept soundly and dreamlessly thanks to my gratuitous drug use. Though I was well rested, I slipped right back into the same hectic frenzy form the night before. I dressed in a rush, smoothing my collar against my neck, fidgeting with the tan sweater till it hung right over my heads. I sneaked a swift look out the window to see that Charlie was already gone. A thin, cottony layer of clouds veiled the sky. They didn't look very lasting. 

I ate breakfast without tasting the food, hurrying to clean up when I was down. I peeked out the window again, but nothing had changed. I had just finished brushing my teeth and was heading back downstairs when a quiet knock sent my heart thudding against my rib cage.

I flew to the door; I had a little trouble with the simple deadbolt, but I yanked the door open at last, and there she was. All the agitation dissolved as soon as I looked at her face, calm taking its place. I breathed a sigh of relief--yesterday's fears seemed very foolish with her here.

She wasn't smiling at first--her face was somber. But then her expression lightened as she looked me over, and she laughed. 

"Good morning," she chuckled. 

"What's so funny?" I glanced down to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything important, like shoes, or pants.

"We match." She laughed again. I realized she had a long, light tan sweater on, with a white collar showing underneath, and blue jeans. Her hair was in a pony-tail, like mine. I laughed with her, hiding a secret twinge of regret--why did she have to look like a runway model when I couldn't?

I locked the door behind me while she walked to the truck. She waited by the passenger door with a martyred expression that was easy to understand. 

"We made a deal," I reminded her smugly, climbing into the driver's seat, and reaching over to unlock her door. 

"Where to?" I asked. 

"Will you put your seat belt on?-- I'm nervous already."

I gave her a dirty look as I complied. 

"Where to?" I repeated with a sigh.

"Take the one-oh-one north," she ordered.

It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road while feeling her gaze on my face. I compensated by driving more carefully than usual through the still-sleeping town. 

"Where you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

"This truck is old enough to be your car's grandfather--have some respect," I retorted.

We were soon out of the town limits, despite her negativity. Thick underbrush and green-swatched trunks replaced the lawns and houses. 

"Turn right on the one-ten," she instructed just as I was about to ask. I obeyed silently. 

"Now we drive until the pavement ends."

I could hear a smile in her voice, but I was too afraid of driving off the road and proving her right to look over and be sure.

"And what's there, at the end of the pavement's end?" I wondered.

"A trail."

"We're hiking?" Thank goodness I'd worn tennis shoes.

"Is that a problem?" She sounded worried, but also as if she'd expected as much.

"No," I tried to make the lie sound confident. But if she thought my truck was slow. . . 

"Don't worry, it's only five miles or so, and we're in no hurry."

Five miles. I didn't answer, so that she wouldn't hear my voice crack in panic. Five miles of treacherous roots and loose stones, trying to twist my ankles or otherwise incapacitate me. This was going to be humiliating. 

We drove in silence for a while as I contemplated the coming horror.

"What are you thinking?" she asked impatiently after a few moments. It would've made me smile, if I weren't so worried about the upcoming hike.

I lied again. "Just wondering where we're going."

"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice." We both glanced out the windows at the thinning clouds after she spoke.

"Charlie said it would be warm today."

"And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?"

"Well, he still thinks I'm going to Seattle."

"But Jessica thinks we're going together?" She seemed cheered by the idea.

"No, I told her and Mike that we were staying at my house and studying." 

"As long as someone knows that you're with me." She sounded chipper, and I knew it comforted her that if something did go bad, that I wouldn't just disappear without a trace. I suppressed a shiver. 

We were silent for the rest of the drive. It was a comfortable silence, but I still wracked my brain for something to say. 

And then the road ended, constricting to a thin foot trail with a small wooden marker. I parked on the narrow shoulder and stepped out, my earlier nerves resurfacing now that the hike was happening. It was warm now, warmer than it had been in Forks since the day I'd arrived, almost muggy under the clouds. I pulled off my sweater and knotted it around my wast, glad that I'd warn the light, sleeveless shirt--especially if I had five miles of hiking ahead of me. 

I heard her door shut, and looked over to see that she'd removed her sweater, too. She was facing away from me, into the unbroken forest beside my truck.

"It's this way," she said, glancing over her shoulder at me. She turned back and stared into the dark forest.

"The trail?" Panic was clear in my voice as I hurried around the truck to catch up with her. 

"I said that there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it."

"No trail?" I asked desperately. 

"I won't let you get lost." Her eyes were soft as she looked at me, then humorous, "or fall." She added on. 

She turned to face me full on and I stifled a gasp. Her white shirt was sleeveless, like mine, and she wore it with the first few buttons unbuttoned, so that the smooth white skin of her throat flowed uninterrupted over her her collarbones, and gentle swell of her breasts. She was too perfect, I realized with a piercing stab of despair. There was no way this goddess-like creature could be meant for me. 

She stared at me, bewildered by my tortured expression.

"Do you want to go home?" she asked quietly, a different pain than mine saturating her voice.

"No." I walked forward till I was close beside her, anxious not to waste one second of whatever time I might have with her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"I'm not a good hiker," I answered dully. "You'll have to be very patient."

"I can be patient--if I make a great effort." She smiled, holding my glance, trying to lift me out of my sudden, unexplained dejection. 

I tried to smile back, but the smile was unconvincing. She scrutinized my face. 

"I'll take you home," she promised. I couldn't tell if the promise was unconditional, or restricted to an immediate departure. I knew she thought it was fear that upset me, and I was grateful again that I was the one person whose mind she couldn't hear. 

"If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way," I said with fake enthusiasm. 

She looked at me once to make sure I was sure and led the way into the forest. 

It wasn't as hard as I had feared. The way was mostly flat, and she held the damp ferns and webs of moss aside for me. When her straight path took us over fallen trees or boulders, she would help me, lifting me by the elbow, and then releasing me instantly when I was clear. Her cold touch on my skin never failed to make my heart thud erratically. Twice, when that happened, I caught a look on her face that made me sure she could somehow hear it. 

I tried to keep my eyes away from her perfection as much as possible, but I slipped often. Each time, her beauty pierced me through with sadness.

For the most part, we walked in silence. Occasionally she would ask a random question that she hadn't gotten to in the past two days of interrogation. She asked about my birthdays, my grade school teachers, my childhood pets--and I had to admit that after killing three fish in a row, I'd given up on the whole institution. She laughed at that, louder than I was used to--chime-like echoes bouncing back to us from the empty woods.

The hike took me most of the morning, but she never showed any sign of impatience. The forest spread out around us in a boundless labyrinth of ancient trees, and I began to be nervous that we would never find our way out again. She was perfectly at ease, comfortable in the green maze, never seeming to feel any doubt about our direction. 

After several hours, the light that filtered through the canopy transformed, the murky olive tone shifting to a brighter jade. The day had turned sunny, just as she'd foretold. For the first time since we'd entered the woods, I felt a thrill of excitement--which quickly turned to impatience.

"Are we there yet?" I teased, pretending to scowl.

"Nearly." She smiled at the change in my mood. "Do you see the brightness ahead?"

I peered into the thick forest. "Um, should I?"

She smirked. "Maybe it's a bit soon for _your_ eyes."

"Time to visit the optometrist," I muttered. Her smirk grew more pronounced.

But then, after another hundred yards, I could definitely see a lightening in the trees ahead, a glow that was yellow instead of green. I picked up the pace, my eagerness growing with every step. She let me lead now, following noiselessly. 

I reached the edge of the pool of light and stepped through the last fringe of ferns into the loveliest place I had ever seen. The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers--violet, yellow, and soft white. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the bubbling music of a stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine. I walked slowly, awestruck, through the soft grass, swaying flowers, and warm, gilded air. I halfway turned, wanting to share this with her, but she wasn't behind me where I thought she'd be. I spun around, searching for her with sudden alarm. Finally I spotted her, still under the dense shade of the canopy at the edge of the hollow, watching me with cautious eyes. Only then did I remember what the beauty of the meadow had driven from my mind--the enigma of Edythe and the sun, which she'd promised to illustrate for me today. I took a step back toward her, my eyes alight with curiosity. Her eyes were wary, reluctant. I smiled encouragingly and beckoned to her with my hand, taking another step back to her. She held up a hand in warning, and I hesitated, rocking back onto my heels.

Edythe seemed to take a deep breath, and then she stepped out into the bright glow of the midday sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I wanted to cut out the part where Bella decides to tell everyone that she's staying home alone. One, because I really don't like how she is willing to just die for Edward and thats kinda creepy. And two, because this is a lesbian re-write, I do want things to be less abusive. I'm going to cut down on Edythe's mood swings and Edythe is going to be less harsh on Bella.


	14. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me longer than usual to get this one up, I don't know if I can keep posting a chapter a day every day. Follow me on Tumblr @ legere-librum to get updates on when chapters are going up.

Edythe in the sunlight was shocking. I couldn't get used too it, though I'd been staring at her all afternoon. Her skin, white despite the faint flush from yesterday's hunting trip, literally sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. She lay perfectly still in the grass, her scintillating arms bare. Her glistening, pale lavender lids were shut, though of course she didn't sleep. A perfect statue, carved in some unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal. 

Now and then, her lips would move, so fast it looked like they were trembling. But, when I asked, she told me she was singing to herself; it was too low for me to hear. 

I enjoyed the sun, too, though the air wasn't quite dry enough for my taste. I would have liked to lie back, as she did, and let the sun warm my face. But I stayed curled up, my chin resting on my knees, unwilling to take my eyes off her. The wind was gentle; it tangled our hair and ruffled the grass that swayed around her motionless form. 

The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to her magnificence. 

Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, that she would disappear like a mirage, too beautiful to be real. . . hesitantly, I reached out one finger and stroked the back of her shimmering hand, where it lay within my reach. I marveled again at the perfect texture, satin smooth, cool as stone. When I looked up again, her eyes were open, watching me. Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting. Her quick smile turned up the corners of her flawless lips, showing her dimples. 

"I don't scare you?" she asked playfully, but I could hear the real curiosity in her soft voice. 

"No more than usual."

She smiled wider; her teeth flashing in the sun. 

I inched closer, stretched out my whole hand now to trace the contours of her forearm with my fingertips. I saw that my fingers trembled, and knew it wouldn't escape her notice. 

"Do you mind?" I asked, for she had closed her eyes again.

"No," she said without opening her eyes. "You can't imagine how that feels." She sighed.

I lightly trailed my hand over the perfect muscles of her arm, followed the faint pattern of bluish veins inside the crease at her elbow. With my other hand, I reached to turn her hand over. Realizing what I wished, she flipped her palm up in one of those blindingly fast, disconcerting movements of hers. It startled me; my fingers froze on her arm for a brief second. 

"Sorry," she murmured. I looked up in time to see her golden eyes close again. "It's too easy to be myself with you."

I lifted her hand, turning it this way and that as I watched the sun glitter on her palm. I held it closer to my face, trying to see the hidden facets in her skin.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she whispered. I looked to see her eyes watching me, suddenly intent. "It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

"You know, the rest of us feel that way all the time."

"It's a hard life." Did I imagine the win of regret in her tone? "But you didn't tell me."

"I was wishing I could know what you were thinking. . ." I hesitated. 

"And?"

"I was wishing that I could believe that you were real. And I was wishing that I wasn't afraid."

"I don't want you to be afraid." Her voice was just a soft murmur. I heard what she couldn't truthfully say, that I didn't need to be afraid, that there was nothing to fear. 

"Well, that's not exactly the fear I meant, though that's certainly something to think about."

So quickly that I missed her movement, she was half sitting, propped up on her right arm, her left palm still in my hands. Her angel's face was only a few inches from mine. I might have--should have--flinched away from her unexpected closeness, but I was unable to move. Her golden eyes mesmerized me. 

"What are you afraid of, then?" she whispered intently.

But I couldn't answer. As I had just that once before, I smelled her cool breath in my face. Sweet, delicious, the scent made my mouth water. It was unlike anything else. Instinctively, unthinkingly, I leaned closer, inhaling. 

And she was gone, her hand ripped from mine. In the time it took my eyes to focus, she was twenty feet away, standing at the edge of the small meadow, in the deep shade of a huge fir tree. She stared at me, her eyes dark in the shadows, her expression unreadable. 

I could feel the hurt and shock on my face. My empty hands stung. 

"I'm . . . sorry. . . Edythe," I whispered. I knew she could hear.

"Give me a moment," she called, just loud enough for my less sensitive ears. I sat very still. 

After ten incredibly long seconds, she walked back, slowly for her. She stopped, still several feet away, and sank gracefully to the ground, crossing her legs. Her eyes never left mine. She took two deep breaths, and then smiled in apology.

"I am so very sorry," She hesitated. "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?"

I nodded once, not quite able to smile at her joke. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as the realization of danger slowly sank in. She could smell that from where she sat. Her smile turned bitter. 

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I?" everything about me invites you in--my voice, my face, even my _smell_. As if I need any of that!" Unexpectedly, she was on her feet, bounding away, instantly out of sight, only to appear beneath the same tree as before, having circled the meadow in half a second. 

"As if you could outrun me," she laughed bitterly.

She reached up with one hand and, with a deafening crack, effortlessly ripped a two-foot-thick branch from the trunk of the spruce. She balanced it in that hand for a moment, and then threw it with blinding speed, shattering it against another huge tree, which shook and trembled at the blow. 

And then she was in front of me again, standing two feet away, still as a stone.

"As if you could fight me off," she said gently.

I sat without moving, more frightened of her than I had ever been. I'd never seen her so completely freed of that carefully cultivated façade. She'd never been less human. . . or more beautiful. Face ashen, eyes wide, I sat like a bird locked in the eyes of a snake. 

Her lovely eyes seemed to glow with rash excitement. Then, as the seconds passed, they dimmed. Her expression slowly folded into a mask of ancient sadness.

"Don't be afraid," she murmured, her velvet voice unintentionally seductive. "I promise. . ." She hesitated. "I _swear_ not to hurt you." She seemed more concerned with convincing herself than me.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered again as she stepped closer, with exaggerated slowness. She sat sinuously, with deliberately unhurried movements, till our faces were on the same level, just a foot apart. 

"Please forgive me," she said formally. "I _can_ control myself. You caught me off guard. But I'm on my best behavior now."

She waited, but I still couldn't speak.

"I'm not thirsty today, honestly." She winked. And I could tell that she was genuinely worried about me. 

At that I had to laugh, though the sound was shaky and breathless.

"Are you all right?" she asked tenderly, reaching out slowly, carefully, to place her marble hand back in mine.

I looked at her smooth, cold hand, and then at her eyes. They were soft, repentant. I looked back at her hand, and then deliberately returned to tracing the lines inter hand with my fingertip. I looked up and smiled timidly.

Her answering smile was dazzling.

"So where were we, before I behaved so rudely?" she asked in the gentle cadences of an earlier century.

"I honestly can't remember."

She smiled, but her face was ashamed. "I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."

"Oh, right." 

"Well?"

I looked down at her hand and doodled aimlessly across her smooth, iridescent palm. The seconds ticked by.

"How easily frustrated I am," she sighed. I looked into her eyes, abruptly grasping that this was every bit as new to her as it was to me. As many years of unfathomable experience as she had, this was hard for her, too. I took courage from that thought. 

"I was afraid. . . because, for, well, obvious reasons, I can't _stay_ with you. And I'm afraid that I'd like to stay with you, much more than I should." I looked down at her hands as I spoke. It was difficult for me to say this aloud. 

"Yes," she agreed slowly. "That is something to be afraid of, indeed. Wanting to be with me. That's really not in your best interest."

I frowned.

"I should have left long ago," she sighed. "I should leave now. But I don't know if I can."

"I don't want you to leave," I mumbled pathetically, staring down again. 

"Which is exactly why I should. But don't worry. I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should."

"I'm glad."

"Don't be!" She withdrew her hand, very gently this time; her voice was rough as she spoke, measured in a way that made me think she was controlling herself from reacting harshly. 

"It's not only your company I cave. Never forget that. You have to understand that I am more dangerous to _you_ than I am to anyone else." She stopped, and I looked to see her gazing unseeingly into the forest. 

I thought for a moment.

"I don't think I understand exactly what you mean--by that last part anyway," I said. 

She looked back at me and smiled, her earlier tenseness disappearing. 

"How do I explain?" she mused. "And without frightening you again. . . hmmmmm." Without seeming to think about it, she placed her hand back in mine; I held it tightly in both of mine. She looked at our hands.

"That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth." She sighed. 

A moment passed as she assembled her thoughts. 

"You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?" she began. "Some people love chocolate ice cream, others prefer strawberry?"

I nodded. 

"Sorry about the food analogy--I couldn't think of another way to explain."

I smiled. She smiled ruefully back.

"You see, every person smells different, has a different essence. If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, he'd gladly drink it. But her could resist, if he wished to, if he were a recovering alcoholic. Now let's say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac--and filled the room with its warm aroma--how do you think he would fare then?"

We sat silently, looking into each other's eyes--trying to read each other's thoughts.

She broke the silence first.

"Maybe that's not the right comparison. Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead."

"So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

She smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. "Yes, you are _exactly_ my brand of heroin."

"Does that happen often?" I asked.

She looked across the treetops, thinking through her response.

"I spoke to my brothers about it." She still stared into the distance. "To Jasper, every one of you is much the same. He's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for him to abstain at all. He hasn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell, in flavor." She glanced swiftly at me, her expression apologetic.

"Sorry," she said.

"I don't mind. Please don't worry about offending me, or frightening me, or whichever. That's the way you think. I can understand, or I can try to at least. Just explain however you can."

She took a deep breath and gazed at the sky again.

"So Jasper wasn't sure if he'd ever come across someone who was as"--she hesitated, looking for the right word--" _appealing_ as you are to me. Which makes me think not. Emmett has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and he understood what I meant. He says twice, for him, once stronger than the other." 

"And for you?"

"Never."

The word hung there for a moment in the warm breeze.

"What did Emmett do?" I asked to break the silence.

It was the wrong question to ask. Her face grew sad, her hand clenched into a fist inside mine. She looked away. I waited, but she wasn't going to answer. 

"I guess I know," I finally said. 

She lifted her eyes; her expression was wistful, pleading.

"Even the strongest fall off the wagon, don't we?"

"What are you asking? My permission?" My voice was sharper than I'd intended. I tried to make my tone kinder--I could guess what her honesty must cost her. "I mean, is there no hope, then?" How calmly I could discuss my own death!

"No, no!" She was instantly contrite. "Of course there's hope! I mean, of course I won't. . ." She left the sentence hanging. Her eyes burned into mine. "It's different for us. Emmett. . . these were strangers he happened across. It was a long time ago, and he wasn't as. . . practiced, as careful, as he is now."

She fell silent and watched me intently as I thought it through.

"So if we'd met. . . oh, in a dark alley or something . . ." I trailed off. 

"It took everything I had not to jump up in the middle of that class full of people and--" She stopped abruptly, looking away. "When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Carlisle has built for us, right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last, well, too many years, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself." She paused, scowling at the trees.

She glanced at me grimly, both of us remembering. "You must have thought I was possessed."

"I couldn't understand why. How you could hate me so quickly. . ."

"To me, it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me. The fragrance coming off your skin. . . I thought it would make me deranged that first day. In that one hour, I thought of a hundred different ways to lure you from the room with me, to get you alone. And I fought them each back, thinking of my family, what I could do to them. I had to run out, to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow. . . ."

She looked up then at my staggered expression as I tried to absorb her bitter memories. Her golden eyes scorched from under her lashes, hypnotic and deadly.

"You would have come," she promised.

I tried to speak calmly. "Without a doubt."

She frowned down at my hands, releasing me from the force of her stare. "And then, as I tried to rearrange my schedule in a pointless attempt to avoid you, you were there--in that close, war. little room, the scent was maddening. I so very nearly took you then. There was only one other frail human there--so easily dealt with."

I shivered int eh warm sun, seeing my memories anew through her eyes, only now grasping the danger. Poor Ms. Cope; I shivered again at how close I'd come to being inadvertently responsible for her death.

"But I resisted. I don't know how. I forced myself _not_ to wait for you, _not_ to follow you from the school. It was easier outside, when I couldn't smell you anymore, to think clearly, to make the right decision. I left the others near home--I was too ashamed to tell them how weak I was, they only knew something was very wrong--and then I went straight to Carlisle, at the hospital, to tell him I was leaving."

I stared in surprise.

"I traded cars with him--he had a full tank of gas and I didn't want to stop. I didn't dare go home, to face Esme. She couldn't have let me go without a scene. She would have tried to convince me that it wasn't necessary. . . 

"By the next morning I was in Alaska." She sounded ashamed, as if admitting a great cowardice. "I spent two days there, with some old acquaintances. . . but I was homesick. I hated knowing I'd upset Esme, and the rest of them, my adopted family. In the pure air of the mountains it was hard to believe you were so irresistible. I convinced myself it was weak to run away. I'd dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude, not even close, but I was strong. Who were you, an insignificant little girl"--she grinned suddenly--"to chase me from the place I wanted to be? So I came back. . . ."

She stared off into space.

I couldn't speak. 

"I took precautions, hunting, feeding more than usual before seeing you again. I was sure that I was strong enough to treat you like any other human. I was arrogant about it.

"It was unquestionably a complication that I couldn't simply read your thoughts to know what your reaction was to me. I wasn't used to having to go to such circuits measures, listening to your words in Jessica's mind. . . her mind isn't very original, and it was annoying to have to stoop to that." I frowned at her briefly at her insult, but she was too wrapped up in her story to notice, "And then I couldn't know if you really meant what you said. It was all extremely irritating." She frowned at the memory.

"I wanted you to forget my behavior that first day, if possible, so I tried to talk with you like I could with any person. I was eager actually, hoping to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expressions. . . and every now and then you would stir the air with your hand or your hair, and the scent would stun me again. . . . 

"Of course, then you were nearly crushed to death in front of my eyes. Later I thought of a perfectly good excuse for why I acted at the moment--because if I hadn't saved you, if your blood had been spilled there in front of me, I don't think I could have stopped myself from exposing us for what we are. But I only thought of that excuse later. At the time, all I could think was, 'Not her.'"

She closed her eyes, lost in her agonized confession. I listened, more eager than rational. Common sense told me I should be terrified. Instead, I was relieved to finally understand. And I was filled with compassion for her suffering.

I finally was able to speak, though my voice was faint. "In the hospital?"

Her eyes flashed up to mine. "I was appalled. I couldn't believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power--you of all people. As if I needed to have a reason to dislike you." We both flinched at the implications of that sentence. "But it had the opposite effect," she continued quickly. "I fought with Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper when they suggested that now was the time. . . the worst fight we've ever had. Carlisle sided with me, and Alice." She grimaced when she said her name. I couldn't imagine why. "Esme told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay." She shook her head indulgently. 

"All that next day I eavesdropped not the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn't understand you at all. But I knew that I couldn't become more involved with you. I did my very best to stay as far from you as possible. And every day the perfume of your skin, you breath, your hair. . . it hit me as hard as the very first day."

She met my eyes again, and they were surprisingly tender.

"And for all that," she continued, "I'd have fared better if I _had_ exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here--with no witnesses and nothing to stop me--I were to hurt you."

I was human enough to have to ask. "Why?"

"Isabella." She pronounced my full name carefully, then playfully ruffled my hair with her free hand. A shock ran through my body at her casual touch. "Bella, I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don't know how it's tortured me." She looked down, ashamed again. "The thought of you, still, white, cold. . . to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses. . . it would be unendurable." She lifted her glorious, agonized eyes to mine. "You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever."

My head was spinning at the rapid change in direction our conversation had taken. From the cheerful topic of my impending demise, we were suddenly declaring ourselves. She waited, and even though I looked down to study our hands between us, I knew her golden eyes were on me.

"You already know how I feel, of course," I finally said. "I'm here. . . which means I'd risk a lot to be near you." I frowned. "I'm an idiot."

"You _are_ an idiot," she agreed with a laugh. Our eyes met, and I laughed, too. We laughed together at the idiocy and sheer impossibility of such a moment. 

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb. . . ." she murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes ass I thrilled to the word.

"What a stupid lamb," I sighed. 

"What a sick, masochistic lion." She stared into the shadowy forest for a long moment, and I wondered where her thoughts had taken her. 

"Why. . . . ?" I began, and then paused, not sure how to continue.

She looked at me and smiled; sunlight glinted off her face, her teeth.

"Yes?"

"Tell me why you ran from me before."

Her smile faded. "You know why."

"No, I mean, exactly what did I do wrong? I'll have to be on my guard, you see, so I better start learning what I shouldn't do. This, for example"--I stroked the back of her hand--"seems to be all right."

She smiled again. "You didn't do anything wrong, Bella. It was my fault."

"But I want to help, if I can, to not make this harder for you." 

"Well. . . ." She contemplated for a moment. "It was just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alienness. . . I wasn't expecting you to come so close. And the smell of your _throat_." She stopped short, looking to see if she'd upset me.

"Okay, then," I said flippantly, trying to alleviate the suddenly tense atmosphere. I tucked my chin. "No throat exposure."

It worded; she laughed. "No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else."

She raised her free hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck. I sat very still, the chill of her touch a natural warning--a warning telling me to be terrified. But there was no feeling of fear in me. There were, however, other feelings. . . 

"You see," she said. "Perfectly fine."

My blood was racing, and I wished I could slow it, sensing that this must make everything so much more difficult--the thudding of my pulse in my veins. Surely she could hear it. 

"The blush on your cheeks is lovely," she murmured. She gently freed her other hand. My hands fell limply into my lap. Softly she brushed my cheek, then held my face between her marble hands.

"Be very still," she whispered, as if I wasn't already frozen. 

Slowly, never moving her eyes from mine, she leaned toward me. Then abruptly, but still very gently, she rested her cold cheek against the hollow at the base of my throat. I was quite unable to move, even if I'd wanted to. I listened to the sound of her even breathing, watching the sun and wind play in her bronze hair, more human than any other part of her. 

With deliberate slowness, her hands slid down the sides of my neck. I shivered, and I heard her catch her breath. But her hands didn't pause as they softly moved to my shoulders, and then stopped. 

Her face drifted to the side, her nose skimming across my collarbone. She came to rest with the side of her face pressed tenderly against my chest.

Listening to my heart. 

"Ah," she sighed. 

I don't know how long we sat without moving. It could have been hours. Eventually the throb of my pulse quieted, but she didn't move or speak again as she held me. I knew at any moment it could be too much, and my life could end--so quickly that I might not even notice. And I couldn't make myself be afraid. I trusted her, and I couldn't think of anything, except that she was touching me.

And then, too soon, she released me.

Her eyes were peaceful.

"It won't be so hard again," she said with satisfaction.

"Was that very hard for you?"

"Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. And you?"

"No, it wasn't bad. . . for me."

She smiled at my inflection. "You know what I mean."

I smiled.

"Here." She took my hand and placed it against her cheek. "Do you feel how warm it is?"

And it was almost warm, her usually icy skin. But I barely noticed, for I was touching her face, something I'd dreamed of constantly since the first day I'd seen her.

"Don't move," I whispered.

No one could be still like Edythe. She closed her eyes and became as immobile as stone, a carving under my hand.

I moved even more slowly than she had, careful not to make one unexpected move. I caressed her cheek, delicately stroked her eyelid, the purple shadow in the hollow under her eye. I traced the shape of her perfect nose, and then, so carefully, her flawless lips. Her lips parted under my hand, and I could feel her cool breath on my fingertips. I wanted to lean in, to inhale the scent of her. So I dropped my hand and leaned away, not wanting to push her too far. 

She opened her eyes, and they were hungry. Not in a way to make me fear, but rather to tighten the muscles in the pit of my stomach and send my pulse hammering through my veins again. 

"I wish," she whispered, "I wish you could feel the. . . complexity. . . the confusion. . . I feel. That you could understand."

She raised her hand to my hair, then carefully brushed it across my face.

"Tell me," I breathed.

"I don't think I can. I've told you, on the one hand, the hunger--the thirst--that, deplorable creature that I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though"--she half smiled--"as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathize completely. 

"But. . ." Her fingers touched my lips lightly, making me shiver again. "There are other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand, that are foreign to me."

"I may understand _that_ better than you think."

"I'm not used to feeling so human. Is it always like this?"

"For me?" I paused. "No, never. Never before this."

She held my hands between hers. They felt so feeble in her iron strength. 

"I don't know how to be close to you," she admitted. "I don't know if I can."

I leaned forward very slowly, cautioning her with my eyes. I placed my cheek against her stone chest. I could hear her breath, and nothing else.

"This is enough," I sighed, closing my eyes.

In a very human gesture, she put her arms around me and pressed her face against my hair. 

"You're better at this than you give yourself credit for," I noted.

"I have human instincts--they may be buried deep, but they're there."

We sat like that for another immeasurable moment; I wondered if she could be as unwilling to move as I was. But I could see the light was fading, the shadows of the forest beginning to much us, and I sighed.

"You have to go." 

"I thought you couldn't read my mind."

"It's getting clearer," I could hear a smile in her voice.

She took my shoulders and I looked into her face.

"Can I show you something?" she asked, sudden excitement flaring in her eyes.

"Show me what?"

"I'll show you how _I_ travel in the forest." She saw my expression. "Don't worry, you'll be very safe, and we'll get to your truck much faster." Her mouth twitched up into that dimpled smile so beautiful my heart nearly stopped.

"Will you turn into a bat?" I asked warily.

She laughed, louder than I'd ever heard. "Like I haven't heard _that_ one before!"

"Right, I'm sure you get that all the time."

"Come on, little coward, climb on my back."

I waited to see if she was kidding, but apparently, she meant it. She smiled as she read my hesitation, and reached for me. My heart reacted; even though she couldn't hear my thoughts, my pulse always gave me away. She then proceeded to sling me onto her back, with very little effort on my part, besides, when in place, clamping my legs and arms so tightly around her that it would choke a normal person. It was like clinging to a stone.

"I'm a bit heavier than your average backpack," I warned.

"Hah!" she noted. I could almost hear her eyes rolling. I'd never seen her in such high spirits before.

She startled me, suddenly grabbing my hand, pressing my palm to her face, and inhaling deeply. 

"Easier all the time," she muttered.

And then she was running.

If I'd ever feared death before in her presence, it was nothing compared to how I felt now. 

She streaked though the dark, thick underbrush of the forest like a bullet, like a ghost. There was no sound, no evidence that her feet touched the earth. Her breathing never changed, never indicated any effort. But the trees flew by at deadly speeds, always missing us by inches.

I was too terrified to close my eyes, though the cool forest air whipped against my face and burned them. I felt as if I were stupidly sticking my head out the window of an airplane in flight. And, for the first time in my life, I felt the dizzy faintness of motion sickness.

Then it was over. We'd hiked hours this morning to reach Edythe's meadow, and now, in a matter of minutes, we were back to the truck. 

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" Her voice was high, excited.

She stood motionless, waiting for me to climb down. I tried, but my muscles wouldn't respond. My arms and legs stayed locked around her while my head spun uncomfortably. 

"Bella?" she asked, anxious now.

"I think I need to lie down," I gasped.

"Oh, sorry." She waited for me, but I still couldn't move.

"I think I need help," I admitted.

She laughed quietly, and gently unloosened my stranglehold on her neck. There was no resisting the iron strength of her hands. Then she pulled me around to face her, cradling me in her arms like a small child. She held me for a moment, then carefully placed me on the springy ferns.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

I couldn't be sure how I felt when my head was spinning so crazily. "Dizzy, I think."

"Put your head between your knees."

I tried that, and it helped a little. I breathed in and out slowly, keeping my head very still. I felt her sitting beside me. The moments passed, and eventually I found that I could raise my head. There was a hollow ringing sound in my ears.

"I guess that wasn't the best idea," she mused.

I tried to be positive, but my voice was weak. "No, it was very interesting."

"Hah! You're as white as a ghost--no, you're as white as _me_!"

"I think I should have closed my eyes."

"Remember that next time."

"Next time!" I groaned.

She laughed, her mood still radiant.

"Show-off," I muttered.

"Open your eyes, Bella," she said quietly.

And she was right there, her face so close to mine. Her beauty stunned my mind--it was too much, an excess I couldn't grow accustomed to.

"I was thinking, while I was running. . . ." She paused.

"About not hitting the trees, I hope."

"Bella," she chuckled. "Running is second nature to me, it's not something I have to think about."

"Show-off," I muttered again.

She smiled.

"No," she continued, "I was thinking there was something I wanted to try." And she took my face in her hands again.

I couldn't breathe.

She hesitated--not in the normal way, the human way.

Not in the way someone might hesitate before they kissed another person, to gauge their reaction, to see how they would be received. Perhaps they would hesitate to prolong the moment, that ideal moment of anticipation, sometimes better than the kiss itself.

Edythe hesitated to test herself, to see if this was safe, to make sure she was still in control of her need. 

And then her cold, marble lips pressed very softly against mine.

What neither of us was prepared for was my response.

Blood boiled under my skin, burned in my lips. My breath came in a wild gasp. My fingers knotted in her hair, clutching her to me. My lips parted as breathed in her heady scent. 

Immediately I felt her turn unresponsive stone beneath my lips. Her hands gently, but with irresistible force, pushed my face back. I opened my eyes and saw her guarded expression.

"Oops," I breathed.

"That's an understatement."

Her eyes were wild, her jaw clenched in acute restraint, yet she didn't lapse from her perfect articulation. She held my face just inches from hers. She dazzled my eyes.

"Should I. . . ?" I tried to disengage myself, to give her some room.

Her hands refused toilet me move so much as an inch.

"No, it's tolerable. Wait for a moment, please." Her voice was polite, controlled.

I kept my eyes on hers, watched as the excitement in them faded and gentled. 

Then she smiled a surprisingly impish grin. 

"There," she said, obviously pleased with herself.

"Tolerable?" I asked.

She laughed aloud. "I'm stronger than I thought. It's nice to know."

"I wish I could say the same. I'm sorry."

"You _are_ only human, after all."

"Thanks so much," I said, my voice acerbic.

She was on her feet in one of her lithe, almost invisibly quick movements. She held out her hand to me, an unexpected gesture. I was so used to our standard of careful non-contact. I took her icy hand, needing the support more than I thought. My balance had not yet returned.

"Are you still faint from the run? Or was it my kissing expertise?" How lighthearted, how human she seemed as she laughed now, her seraphic face untroubled. She was a different Edythe than the one I had known. And I felt all the more besotted by her. It would cause me physical pain to be separated from her now.

"I can't be sure, I'm still woozy," I managed to respond. "I think it's some of both, though."

"Maybe you should let me drive."

"Are you insane?" I protested.

"I can drive better than you on your best day," she teased. "You have much slower reflexes."

"I'm sure that's true, but I don't think my nerves, or my truck, could take it."

"Some trust, please, Bella."

My hand was in my pocket, curled tightly around the key. I pursed my lips, deliberated, then shook my head with a tight grin.

"Nope, not a chance."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. 

I started to step around her, heading for the driver's side. She might have let me pass if I hadn't wobbled slightly. Then again, she might not have. Her arm created an inescapable snare around my waist.

"Bella, I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I'm not about to let you behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. Besides, friends don't let friends drive drunk," she quoted with a chuckle. I could smell the unbearably sweet fragrance coming off her chest.

"Drunk?" I objected.

"You're intoxicated by my very presence." She was grinning that playful smirk again. 

"I can't argue with that," I sighed. There was no way around it; I couldn't resist her in anything. I held the key high and dropped it, watching her hand glass like lightning to catch it soundlessly. "Take it easy--my truck is a senior citizen."

"Very sensible," she approved.

"And are you not affected at all?" I asked, irked. "By my presence?"

Again her mobile features transformed, her expression became soft, warm. She didn't answer at first; she simply bent her face to mine, and brushed her lips slowly along my jaw, from my ear to my chin, back and forth. I trembled.

"Regardless," she finally murmured, "I have better reflexes." 


	15. Mind Over Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! I have a lot of stuff going on with family, especially with the holidays coming up. I think I'm going to have to start posing only once a week, and if I can I'll post more than that. But definitely at least once a week. If you want updates on when I'm going to post, follow me on Tumblr @ legere-librum

She could drive well, when she kept the speed reasonable, I had to admit. Like so many things, it seemed to be effortless to her. She barely looked at the road, yet the tires never deviated so much as a centimeter from the center of the lane. She drove one-handed, holding my hand on the seat. Sometimes she gazed into the setting sun, sometimes she glanced at me--my face, my hair blowing out the open window, our hands twined together. 

She had turned the radio to an oldies station, and she sang along with a song I'd never heard. She knew every line. 

"You like fifties music?" I asked.

"Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" She shuddered. "The eighties were bearable."

"Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" I asked, tentative, not wanting to upset her buoyant humor. 

"Does it matter much?" Her smile, to my relief, remained unclouded.

"No, but I still wonder. . ." I grimaced. "There's nothing like an unsolved mystery to keep you up at night."

"I wonder if it will upset you," she reflected to herself. She gazed into the sun; the minutes passed.

"Try me," I finally said.

She sighed, and then looked into my eyes, seeming to forget the road completely for a time. Whatever she saw there must have encouraged her. She looked into the sun--the light of the setting orb glittered off her skin in ruby-tinged sparkles--and spoke.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901." She paused and glanced at me from the corner of her eyes. My face was carefully unsurprised, patient for the rest. She smiled a tiny smile and continued. "Carlisle found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and dying of the Spanish influenza."

She heard my intake of breath, though it was barely audible to my own ears. She looked down into my eyes again. 

"I don't remember it well--it was a very long time ago, and human memories fade." She was lost inner thoughts for a short time before she went on. "I do remember how it felt, when Carlisle saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you could forget."

"Your parents?"

"They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That was why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."

"How did he. . . save you?"

A few seconds passed before she answered. She seemed to choose her words carefully.

"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carlisle has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of us. . . I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history." She paused. "For me, it was merely very, very painful."

I could tell from the set of her lips, she would say no more on this subject. I suppressed my curiosity, though it was far from idle. There were many things I needed to think through on this particular issue, things that were only beginning to occur to me. No doubt her quick mind had already comprehended every aspect that eluded me.

Her soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "He acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Carlisle's family, though he found Esme soon after. She fell from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, her heart was still beating."

"So you must be dying, then, to become. . ." We never said the word, and I couldn't frame it now. 

"No, that's just Carlisle. He would never do that to someone who had another choice." The respect in her voice was profound whenever she spoke of her father figure. "It is easier he says, though," she continued, "if the blood is weak." She looked at the now-dark road, and I could feel the subject closing again.

"And Emmett and Rosalie?"

"Carlisle brought Rosalie to our family next. I didn't realize till much later that he was hoping she would be to me what Esme was to him--he was careful with his thoughts around me." She rolled her eyes. "But she was never more than a sister, and she wasn't into women. At that time, Carlisle was under the impression that it was a choice to be Gay. Of course he understood after time. And it was only two years later that she found Emmett. She was hunting--we were in Appalachia at the time--and found a bear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Carlisle, more than a hundred miles, afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her." She threw a pointed glance in my direction, and raised our hands, still folded together, to brush my cheek with the back of her hand.

"But she made it," I encouraged, looking away from the unbearable beauty of her eyes.

"Yes," she murmured. "She saw something in his face that made her strong enough. And they've been together since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple. But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled in high school." She laughed. "I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years, _again_." 

Something occurred to me then, "Why do they make it so obvious that they're a couple? Wouldn't it be easier for everyone if Rosalie and Emmett, and Alice and Jasper pretended to just be foster siblings? You must know what they all think." I remembered the tone in Jessica's voice when she told me that they were dating. And my initial thoughts as well.

A wry look crossed her face and she spoke slowly as she explained for me. "We have to hide every aspect of ourselves when we aren't alone, they don't want to hide who they love." She shot me a pointed stare as she continued, "Yes, some people's thoughts are filled with hate, but most of them ignore it."

"I guess that makes sense," I Thought for a moment before continuing with our earlier conversation. "And how did Alice and Jasper join?"

"Alice and Jasper are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jasper belonged to another. . . family, a _very_ different kind of family. He became depressed, and he wandered on his own. Alice found him. Like me, she has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind."

"Really?" I interrupted, fascinated again. "But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."

"That's true. She knows other things. She _sees_ things--things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change." 

Her jaw set when she said that, and her eyes darted to my face and away so quickly that I wasn't sure if I only imagined it. 

"What kinds of things does she see?"

"She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself. She saw Carlisle and our family, and they came together to find us. She's most sensitive to non-humans. She always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."

"Are there a lot of. . . your kind?" I was surprised. How many of them could walk among us undetected?

"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people"--a sly glance in my direction--"can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us that live. . . differently tend to band together."

"And the others?"

"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across the others now and then, because most of us prefer the North."

"Why is that?" 

We were parked in front of my house now, and she'd turned off the truck. It was very quiet and dark; there was no moon. The porch light was off so I knew my father wasn't home yet.

"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" she teased. "Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd-years."

"So that's where the legends came from?"

"Probably."

"And Alice came from another family, like Jasper?"

"No, and that _is_ a mystery. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all. And she doesn't know who created her. She awoke alone. Whoever made her walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, he could. If she hadn't had that other sense, if she hadn't seen Jasper and Carlisle and known that she would someday become one of us, she probably would have turned into a total savage."

There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But, to my great embarrassment, my stomach growled. I'd been so intrigued, I hadn't even noticed I was hungry. I realized now that I was ravenous.

"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."

"I'm fine, really."

"I've never spent much time around anyone who eats food. I forget."

"I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness, knowing as I spoke how my voice would betray me, my hopeless addiction to her.

"Can't I come in?" she asked.

"Would you like to?" I couldn't picture it, this goddess-like creature sitting in my father's shabby kitchen chair.

"Yes, if it's all right." I heard the door close quietly, and almost simultaneously she was outside my door, opening it for me.

"Very human," I complimented her.

"It's definitely resurfacing."

She walked beside me in the night, so quietly I had to peek at her constantly to be sure she was still there. In the darkness she looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in her beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.

She reached the door ahead of me and opened it for me. I paused halfway through the frame.

"The door was unlocked?"

"No, I used the key from under the eave."

I stepped inside, flicked on the porch light, and turned to look at her with my eyebrows raised. I was sure I'd never used that key in front of her. 

"I was curious about you."

"You spied on me?" But somehow I couldn't infuse my voice with the proper outrage. I was oddly flattered.

She was unrepentant. "What else is there to do at night?"

I let it go for the moment and went down the hall to the kitchen. She was there before me, needing no guide. She sat in the very chair I'd tried to picture her in. Her beauty lit up the kitchen. It was a moment before I could look away.

I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's lasagna from the fridge, placing a square on a plate, heating it in the microwave. It revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. I didn't take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke.

"How often?" I asked casually.

"Hmmm?" She sounded as if I had pulled her from some other train of thought.

I still didn't turn around. "How often did you come here?"

"I come here almost every night."

I whirled, stunned. "Why?"

"You're interesting when you sleep." She spoke matter-of-factly. "You talk."

"No!" I gasped, heat flooding my face all the way to my hairline. I gripped the kitchen counter for support. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn't thought it was something I needed to worry about here, though.

Her expression shifted instantly to chagrin. "Are you very angry at me?"

"That depends!" I felt and sounded like I'd had the breath knocked out of me.

She waited.

"On?" she urged.

"What you heard!" I wailed.

Instantly, silently, she was at my side, taking my hands carefully in hers.

"Don't be upset!" she pleaded. She dropped her face to the level of my eyes, holding my gaze. I was embarrassed. I tried to look away.

"You miss your mother," she whispered. "You worry about her. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too _green_.'" She laughed softly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further.

"Anything else?" I demanded.

She knew what I was getting at. "You did say my name," she admitted.

I sighed in defeat. "A lot?"

"How much do you mean by 'a lot,' exactly?"

"Oh no!" I hung my head.

She pulled me against her chest, softly, naturally. 

"Don't be self-conscious," she whispered in my ear. "If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."

Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I stiffened in her arms.

"Should your father know I'm here?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. . . ." I tried to think it through quickly.

"Another time then. . ."

And I was alone.

"Edythe!" I hissed.

I heard a ghostly giggle, then nothing else.

My father's key turned in the door.

"Bella?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be? Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base.

"In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. I grabbed my dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as he walked in. His footsteps sounded so noisy after my day with Edythe.

"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of his boots to take them off, holding the back of Edythe's chair for support.

I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It burned my tongue. I filled two glasses with mild while his lasagna was heating, and gulped mine to put out the fire. As I set the glass down, I noticed the milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Charlie sat in the chair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was comical.

"Thanks," he said as I placed his food on the table.

"How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape to my room.

"Good. The fish were biting. . . how about you? Did you get everything you wanted in Seattle?"

I belatedly realized that I didn't have any shopping bags, "Actually I didn't go to Seattle, I realized I wanted to wait to go with someone," I smiled ruefully at him, "I just did some chores around the house, and then spent some time outside."

He smiled at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, "Maybe another weekend then."

"Maybe."

The conversation didn't last long, as usual with Charlie. Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the remains of my milk. 

Charlie surprised my by being observant. "In a hurry?"

"Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early."

"You look kind of keyed up," he noted. Why, oh why, did this have to be his night to pay attention?

"Do I?" was all I could manage in response. I quickly scrubbed my dishes clean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry. 

"It's Saturday," he mused.

I didn't respond.

"No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.

"No, Dad, I just want to get some sleep."

"None of the boys in town your type, eh?" He was suspicious, but trying to play it cool.

"No, none of the boys have caught my eye." I was careful not to overemphasize the word _boys_ in my quest to be truthful with Charlie. And I was _not_ going to use this opportunity to tell him that his daughter is a lesbian with Edythe within hearing distance.

"I thought maybe that Mike Newton. . . you said he was friendly."

"He's _just_ a friend, Dad."

"Well, you're too good for them all, anyway. Wait till you get to college to start looking." Every father's dream, that his daughter will be out of the house before the hormones kick in.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," I agreed as I headed up the stairs.

"Night, honey," he called after me. No doubt he would be listening carefully all evening, waiting for me to try to sneak out.

"See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping into my room tonight at midnight to check on me.

I worked to make my tread sound slow and tired as I walked up the stairs to my room. I shut the door loud enough for him to hear, and then sprinted on my tiptoes to the window. I threw it open and leaned out into the night. My eyes scanned the darkness, the impenetrable shadows of the trees.

"Edythe?" I whispered, feeling completely idiotic.

The quiet, laughing response came from behind me. "Yes?"

I whirled, one hand flying to my throat in surprise.

She lay, smiling hugely, across my bed, her hands behind her head, her feet crossed at the end, the picture of ease.

"Oh!" I breathed, sinking unsteadily to the floor.

"I'm sorry." She pressed her lips together, trying to hide her amusement. 

"Just give me a minute to restart my heart."

She sat up slowly, so as not to startle me again. Then she leaned forward and reached out with her long arms to pick me up, gripping the tops of my arms like I was a toddler. She sat me on the bed beside her.

"Why don't you sit with me," she suggested, putting a cold hand on mine. "How's the heart?"

"You tell me--I'm sure you hear it better than I do."

I felt her quiet giggles shake the bed.

We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. I thought about having Edythe in my room, with my father in the house.

"Can I have a minute to be human?" I asked.

"Certainly." She gestured with one hand that I should proceed.

"Stay," I said, bring to look severe.

"Yes, ma'am." And she made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of my bed.

I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor, my bag of toiletries off the desk. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door. 

I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the bathroom door loudly, so Charlie wouldn't come up to bother me.

I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough  _and_ speedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the shower couldn't be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse. The familiar smell fo my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same person I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Edythe, sitting in my room, waiting, because then I had to start all over with he calming process. Finally, I couldn't delay anymore. I shut off the water, toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my honey t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria's Secret silk pajamas my mother got me two birthday's ago, which still had the tags on them in a drawer somewhere back home.

I rubbed the towel through my hair again, and then yanked the brush through it quickly. I threw the towel in the hamper, flung my brush and toothpaste into my bag. Then I dashed down the stairs so Charlie could see that I was in my pajamas, with wet hair.

"Night, Dad."

"Night, Bella." He did look startled by my appearance. Maybe that would keep her from checking on me tonight.

I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet, and flew into my room, closing the door tightly behind me.

Edythe hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Aphrodite perched on my faded quilt. I smiled, and her lips twitched, the statue coming to life. 

Her eyes appraised me, taking in the damp hair, the tattered shirt. She raised one eyebrow. "Nice."

I grimaced.

"No, it looks good on you."

"Thanks," I whispered. I went back to her side, sitting cross-legged beside her. I looked at the lines on the wooden floor.

"What was all that for?"

"Charlie thinks I'm sneaking out."

"Oh." She contemplated that. "Why?" As if she couldn't know Charlie's mind much more clearly than I could guess.

"Apparently, I look a little overexcited."

She lifted my chin, examining my face.

"You look very warm, actually."

She bent her face slowly to mind, laying her cool cheek against my skin. I held perfectly still.

"Mmmmmm. . .," she breathed.

It was very difficult, while she was touching me, to frame a coherent question. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin.

"It seems to be. . . much easier for you, now, to be close to me."

"Does it seem that way to you?" she murmured, her nose gliding to the corner of my jaw. I felt her hand, lighter than a moth's wing, brushing my damp hair back, so that her lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.

"Much, much easier," I said, trying to exhale.

"Hmm."

"So I was wondering. . .," I began again, but her fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, and I lost my train of thought.

"Yes?" she breathed.

"Why is that," my voice shook, embarrassing me, "do you think?""

I felt the tremor of her breath on my neck as she laughed. "Mind over matter."

I pulled back; as I moved, she froze--and I could no longer hear the sound of her breathing.

We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as her clenched jaw gradually relaxed, her expression became puzzled.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No--the opposite. You're driving me crazy," I explained.

She considered that briefly, and when she spoke, she sounded pleased. "Really?" A triumphant smile slowly lit her face.

"Would you like a round of applause?" I asked sarcastically.

She grinned, dimples galore. 

"I'm just pleasantly surprised," she clarified. "In the last hundred years or so," her voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with. . . in another way than my brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it. . . at being with you. . ."

"You're good at everything," I pointed out.

She shrugged, allowing that, and we both laughed in whispers.

"But how can it be so easy now?" I pressed. "This afternoon. . ."

"It's not _easy_ ," she sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still. . . undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."

"Not unforgivable," I disagreed.

"Thank you." She smiled. "You see," she continued, looking down now, I wasn't sure if I was strong enough. . . ." She picked up one of my hands and pressed it lightly to her face. "And while there was still that possibility that I might be. . . overcome"--she breathed in the scent at my wrist--"I was. . . susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I _was_ strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would. . . that I ever could. . ."

I'd never seen her struggle so hard for words. It was so. . . human.

"So there's no possibility now?"

"Mind over matter," she repeated, smiling, her teeth bright even in the darkness. 

"Wow, that was easy," I said.

She threw back her head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still exuberantly.

"Easy for _you_!" she amended, touching my nose with her fingertip.

And then she stopped laughing, and her face turned serious.

"I'm trying," she whispered, her voice pained. "If it gets to be. . . too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."

I scowled. I didn't like the talk of leaving.

"And it will be harder tomorrow," she continued. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."

"Don't go away, then." I responded, unable to hide the longing in my voice. 

"That suits me," she replied, her face relaxing into a gentle smile. "Bring on the shackles--I'm your prisoner." But her long hands formed manacles around _my_ wrists as she spoke. She laughed her quiet, musical laugh. She'd laughed more tonight than I'd ever heard in all the time I'd spent with her.

"You seem more. . . optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you like this before."

"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" She smiled. "The glory of first love, and all that. It's incredible, isn't it, the difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?"

"Very different," I agreed. "More forceful than I'd imagined."

"For example"--her words flowed swiftly now, I had to concentrated to catch it all--"the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and movies. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly. But it shocked me. . ." She grimaced. "Do you remember the day that Mike asked you to the dance?"

I nodded, though I remembered that day for a different reason. "The day you started talking to me again."

"I was surprised by the flare of resentment, almost fury, that I felt--I didn't recognize what it was at first. I was even more aggravated than usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused him. Was it simply for your friend's sake? Was there someone else? I knew I had no right to care either way. I _tried_ not to care.

"And then the line started forming," she chuckled. I scowled in the darkness. 

"I waited, unreasonably anxious to hear what you would say to them, to watch your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure.

"That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, while watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was _right_ , moral, ethical, and what I _wanted_. I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you would say yes to Mike or Taylor, or someone like them. It made me angry.

"And then," she whispered, "as you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer." She was silent for a moment, probably listening to the suddenly uneven pounding of my heart.

"But jealousy. . . it's a strange thing. So much more powerful than I would have thought. And irrational! Just now, when Charlie asked you about that vile Mike Newton. . ." She shook her head angrily.

"I knew you were listening," I groaned, insanely grateful that I didn't choose that moment to tell my dad.

"Of course."

" _That_ made you feel jealous, though, really?" I shook my head at her, smiling, "You know I'm gay, right?" 

She laughed quietly, "I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh."

"But honestly," I teased, "for that to bother you, after I have to hear that Rosalie--Rosalie, the incarnation of pure beauty, _Rosalie_ \--was meant for you. Emmett or no Emmett, straight or not straight, how can I compete with that?"

"There's no competition." Her teeth gleamed. She drew my trapped hands around her back, holding me to her chest. I kept as still as I could, even breathing with caution.

"I _know_ there's no competition," I mumbled into her cold skin. "That's the problem."

"Of course Rosalie _is_ beautiful in her own way, but even if she wasn't like a sister to me, even if Emmett didn't belong with her, even if she wasn't straight, she could never have on tenth, no, one hundredth of the attraction you hold for me." She was serious now, thoughtful. "For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours. . . all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because I hadn't found you yet."

"It hardly seems fair," I whispered, my face still resting on her chest, listening to her breath come and go. "I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?"

"You're right," she agreed with amusement. "I should make this harder for you, definitely." She freed me of her hands, released my wrist, only to gather it carefully into her other hand. She stroked my wet hair softly, from he top of my head to my waist. "You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity. . . what's that worth?"

"Very little--I don't feel deprived of anything."

"Not yet." And her voice was abruptly full of ancient grief.

I tried to pull back, to look in her face, but her hand locked my wrists in an unbreakable hold.

"What--" I started to ask, when her body became alert. I froze, but she suddenly released my hands, and disappeared. I narrowly avoided falling on my face.

"Lie down!" she hissed. I couldn't tell where she spoke from in the darkness. I rolled under my quilt, balling up on my side, the way I usually slept. I heard the door crack open, as Charlie peeked in to make sure I was where I was supposed to be. I breathed evenly, exaggerating the movement.

A long minute passed. I listened, not sure if I'd heard the door close. Then Edythe's cool arm was around me, under the covers, her lips at my ear.

"You are a terrible actress--I'd say that career path is out for you."

"Darn it." I muttered. My heart was crashing in my chest.

She hummed a melody I didn't recognize; it sounded like a lullaby.

She paused. "Should I sing you to sleep?"

"Right," I laughed. "Like I could sleep with you here!"

"You do it all the time," she reminded me.

"But I didn't _know_ you were here," I replied icily.

"So if you don't want to sleep. . .," she suggested, ignoring my tone. My breath caught.

"If I don't want to sleep. . . ?"

She chuckled. "What do you want to do then?"

I couldn't answer at first.

"I'm not sure," I finally said.

"Tell me when you decide."

I could feel her cool breath on my neck, feel her nose sliding along my jaw, inhaling. 

"I thought you were desensitized."

"Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," she whispered. "You have a very floral smell, like lavender. . . or freesia," she noted. "It's mouthwatering."

"Yeah, it's an off day when I don't get _somebody_ telling me how edible I smell."

She chuckled, and then sighed.

"I've decided what I want to do," I told her. "I want to hear more about you."

"Ask me anything."

I sifted though my questions for the most vital. "Why do you do it?" I said. "I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you. . . _are_. Please don't misunderstand, of course I'm glad that you do. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."

She hesitated before answering. "That's a good question, and you are not the first one to ask it. the others--the majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot--they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been. . . dealt a certain hand. . . it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above--to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."

I lay unmoving, locked in awed silence.

"Did you fall asleep?" she whispered after a few minutes.

"No."

"Is that all you're curious about?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not quite."

"What else do you want to know?"

"Why can you read minds--why only you? And Alice, seeing the future. . . why does that happen?"

I felt her shrug in the darkness. "We don't really know. Carlisle has a theory. . . he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified--like our minds, and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Alice had some precognition, wherever she was."

"What did he bring into the next life, and the others?"

"Carlisle brought his compassion. Esme brought her ability to love passionately. Emmett brought his strength. Rosalie. . . her tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness," she chuckled. "Jasper is very interesting. He was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he is able to manipulate the emotions of those around him--calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."

I considered the impossibilities she described, trying to take it in. She waited patiently while I thought.

"So where did it all start? I mean, Carlisle changed you, and then someone must have changed him, and so on. . ."

"Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don't believe that all this would have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?"

"Let me get this straight--I'm the baby seal, right?"

"Right." She laughed, and something touched my hair--her lips? 

I wanted to turn toward her, to see if it was really her lips against my hair. But I had to be good; I didn't want to make this any harder for her than it already was. 

"Are you ready to sleep?" she asked, interrupting the short silence. "Or do you have any other questions?"

"Only a million or two."

"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. . .," she reminded me. I smiled, euphoric at the thought.

"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning?" I wanted this to be certain. "You are mythical, after all."

"I won't leave you." Her voice had the seal of a promise in it.

"One more, then, tonight. . ." And I blushed. The darkness was no help--I'm sure she could feel the sudden warmth under my skin.

"What is it?"

"No, forget it. I changed my mind."

"Bella, you can ask me anything."

I didn't answer, and she groaned.

"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and _worse_."

"I'm glad you can't read my thoughts. It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep talking."

"Please?" Her voice was so persuasive, so impossible to resist.

I shook my head.

"If you down tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is," she threatened darkly. "Please?" Again, that pleading voice.

"Well," I began, glad that she couldn't see my face.

"Yes?"

"You said that Rosalie and Emmett will get married soon. . . Is that. . . marriage. . . the same as it is for humans?"

She laughed in earnest now, understanding. "Is _that_ what you're getting at?"

I fidgeted, unable to answer.

"Yes, I suppose it is much the same," she said. "I told you, most of those human desires are there, just hidden behind more powerful desires."

"Oh," was all I could say.

"Was there a purpose behind your curiosity?"

"Well, I didn't wonder. . . about you and me. . . someday. . ."

She was instantly serious, I could tell by the sudden stillness of her body. I froze, too, reacting automatically.

"I don't think that. . . that. . . would be possibly for us."

"Because it would be too hard for you, if I were that. . . close?"

"That's certainly a problem. But that's not what I was thinking of. It's just that our are so soft, so fragile. I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, Bella, simply by accident." Her voice had become just a soft murmur. She moved her icy palm to rest it against my cheek. "If I was too hasty. . . if for one second I want paying enough attention, I could reach our, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly _breakable_ you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."

She waited for me to respond, growing anxious when I didn't. "Are you scared?" she asked.

I waited for a minute to answer, so the words would be true. "No, I'm fine."

She seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I'm curious now, though," she said, her voice light again. "Have _you_ ever. . ." She trailed off suggestively.

"Of course not." I flushed. "I told you I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close."

"I know. It's just that I know other people's thoughts. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company."

"They do for me. Now, anyway, that they exist for me at all," I sighed.

"That's nice. We have that one thing in common, at least." She sounded satisfied.

"Your human instincts. . .," I began. She waited. "Well, do you find me attractive, in _that_ way, at all?"

She laughed and lightly rumpled my nearly dry hair.

"I may not be human, but I am a woman," she assured me. 

I yawned involuntarily.

"I've answered your questions, now you should sleep," she insisted.

"I'm not sure if I can."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" I said too loudly.

She laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an angel, soft in my ear.

More tired than I realized, exhausted from the long day of mental and emotional stress like I'd never felt before, I drifted to sleep in her cold arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKay, again, theres going to be some changes about how Edythe acts around Bella and how Bella acts around Edythe. One thing that I am struggling with, is how Bella is going to come out to her dad. I know he is going to take it well, I mean come on, its Charlie Swan, but I'm struggling with what she's going to say and stuff.
> 
> Anyway! if theres any typos that you notice, send me a message on Tumblr, and I'll fix it asap. I do post the chapters as soon as I'm done writing them, and that's usually late at night, so mistakes will happen. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!


	16. The Cullens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! Again, I'm only going to be able to post a chapter about once a week. But hopefully the next one will be up before next Sunday. Thank you guys so much for reading! And be sure to comment to let me know what I could be doing better, or if you have any suggestions to how Bella should come out to her dad! I've got some ideas, but nothing concrete yet. And the scene is coming up soon!
> 
> All original characters and story belong to Stephenie Meyer

The muted light of yet another cloudy day eventually woke me. I lay with my arm across my eyes, groggy and dazed. Something, a dream trying to be remembered, struggled to break into my consciousness. I moaned and rolled on my side, hoping more sleep would come. And then the previous day flooded back into my awareness.

"Oh!" I sat up so fast it made my head spin.

"Your hair looks like a haystack. . . I like it." Her unruffled voice came from the rocking chair in the corner.

"Edythe! You stayed!" I rejoiced, and thoughtlessly threw myself across the room and into her lap. In the instant that my thoughts caught up with my actions, I froze, shocked by my own uncontrolled enthusiasm. I stared up at her, afraid that I had crossed the wrong line.

But she laughed.

"Of course," she answered, startled, but seeming pleased by my reaction. Her hands rubbed my back.

I laid my head cautiously against her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her skin. 

"I was sure it was a dream."

"You're not that creative," she scoffed.

"Charlie!" I remembered, thoughtlessly jumping up again and heading to the door.

"He left an hour ago--after reattaching your battery cabled, I might add. I have to admit I was disappointed. Is that all it would take to stop you, if you were determined to go?"

I deliberated where I stood, wanting to return to her so badly, but afraid I might have morning breath.

"You're not usually this confused in the morning," she noted. She held her arms open for me to return. A nearly irresistible invitation.

"I need another human minute," I admitted.

"I'll wait."

I skipped to the bathroom, my emotions unrecognizable. I didn't know myself, inside or out. The face in the mirror was practically a stranger--eyes too bright, hectic spots of red across my cheekbones. After I brushed my teeth, I worked to straighten out the tangled chaos that was my hair. I splashed my face with cold water, and tried to breathe normally, with no noticeable success. I half-ran back to my room.

It seemed like a miracle that she was there, her arms still waiting for me. She reached out to me, and my heart thumped unsteadily. 

"Welcome back," she murmured, taking me into her arms.

She rocked me for a while in silence, until I noticed that her clothes were changed, her hair down in a smooth curtain across her shoulders.

"You left?" I accused, touching the collar of her fresh shirt.

"I could hardly leave in the clothes I came in--what would the neighbors think?"

I pouted.

"You were very deeply asleep; I didn't miss anything," Her eyes gleamed. "The talking came earlier."

I groaned. "What did you hear?"

Her gold eyes grew very soft. "You said you loved me."

"You knew that already," I reminded her, ducking my head. 

"It was nice to hear, just the same."

I hid my face against her shoulder.

"I love you," I whispered.

"You are my life now," she answered simply.

There was nothing more to say for the moment. She rocked us back and forth as the room grew lighter. 

"Breakfast time," she said eventually, casually--to prove, I'm sure, that she remembered all my human frailties. 

So I clutched my throat with both hands and stared at her with wide eyes. Shock crossed her face.

"Kidding!" I snickered. "And you said I couldn't act!"

She frowned at me. "That wasn't funny."

"It was very funny, and you know it." But I examined her gold eyes carefully, to make sure I was forgiven. Apparently, I was.

"Shall I rephrase?" she asked. "Breakfast time for the human."

"Oh, okay."

She threw me over her stone shoulder, gently, but with a swiftness that left me breathless. I protested as she carried me easily down the stairs, but she ignored me. She sat me right side up on a chair.

The kitchen was bright, happy, seeming to absorb my mood.

"What's for breakfast?" I asked pleasantly.

That threw her for a minute.

"Er, I'm not sure. What would you like?" Her marble brow puckered.

I grinned, hopping up.

"That's all right, I fend for myself pretty well. Watch me hunt."

I found a bowl and a box of cereal. I could feel her eyes on me as I poured the milk and grabbed a spoon. I sat my food on the table, and then paused.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked, not wanting to be rude.

She rolled her eyes and smiled, "Just eat, Bella."

I sat at the table, watching her as I took a bite. She was gazing at me, studying my every movement. I made me self-conscious. I cleared my mouth to speak, to distract her.

"What's on the agenda for today?" I asked.

"Hmmm. . ." I watched her frame her answer carefully. "What would you say to meeting my family?"

I gulped.

"Are you afraid now?" She sounded halfway hopeful.

"Yes," I admitted; how could I deny it--she could see my eyes.

"Don't worry." She reassured me. "I'll protect you."

"I'm not afraid of _them_ ," I explained. "I'm afraid they won't. . . like me. Won't they be, well, surprised that you would bring someone. . . like me. . . home to meet them? Do they know that I know about them?"

"Oh, they already know everything. They'd taken bets yesterday, you know"--she smiled, but her voice was harsh--"on whether I'd bring you back, though why anyone would bet against Alice, I can't imagine. At Amy rate, we don't have secrets in the family. It's to really feasible, what with my mind reading and Alice seeing the future and all that."

"And Jasper making you feel all warm and fuzzy about spilling your guts, don't forget that."

"You paid attention," she smiled approvingly.

"I've been known to do that every now and then." I grimaced. "So did Alice see me coming?"

Her reaction was strange. "Something like that," she said uncomfortably, turning away so I couldn't see her eyes. I stared at her curiously.

"Is that any good?" she asked, turning back to me abruptly and eyeing my breakfast with a teasing look on her face. "Honestly, it doesn't look very appetizing."

"Well, it's no irritable grizzly. . .." I murmured, ignoring her when she rolled her eyes. I was still wondering why she responded that way when I mentioned Alice. I hurried through my cereal, speculating.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, the statue of Aphrodite again, staring abstractedly out the back windows. 

Then her eyes were back on me, and she smiled her heartbreaking smile. 

"And you should introduce me to your father, too, I think."

"He already knows you," I reminded her.

"As your girlfriend, I mean."

I stared at her with suspicion. "Why?"

"Isn't that customary?" she asked innocently.

"I don't know," I admitted. My dating history gave me few reference points to work with. Not that any normal rules of dating applied here. "That's not necessary, you know. I don't expect you to. . . I mean, you don't have to pretend for me."

Her smile was patient. "I'm not pretending."

I pushed the remains of my cereal around the edges of the bowl, biting my lip. 

"Are you going to tell Charlie I'm your girlfriend or not?" she asked softly, looking down.

"Is that what you are?" I suppressed my internal cringing at the thought of Edythe and Charlie and the word _girlfriend_ all in the same room at the same time.

"It's a loose interpretation fo the word 'girl,' I'll admit."

"I was under the impression that you were something more, actually," I confessed, looking at the table.

"Well, I don't know if we need to give him all the gory details." She reached across the table to lift my chin with a cold, gentle finger. "But he will need some explanation for why I'm around here so much. I don't want Chief Swan getting a restraining order put on me."

"Will you be?" I asked, suddenly anxious. "Will you really be here?"

"As long as you want me," she assured me.

"I'll always want you," I warned her. "Forever."

She walked slowly around the table, and, pausing a few feet away, she reached out to touch her fingertips to my cheek. Her expression was unfathomable.

"Does that make you sad?" 

She didn't answer. She stared into my eyes for an immeasurable period of time.

"Are you finished?" she finally asked.

I jumped up. "Yes."

"Get dressed--I'll wait here."

It was hard to decide what to wear. I doubted there were any etiquette books detailing how to dress when your vampire sweetheart takes you home to meet her vampire family. It was relief to think the word to myself. I knew I died away from it intentionally. 

I ended up in my only skirt--not too short, denim, still casual. I remembered that she had complimented the color on me before. I put on a white, short sleeved shirt I thought would look good with it. A quick glance in the mirror told me my hair was entirely impossible, so I pulled it back into a ponytail. 

"Okay," I bounced down the stairs. "I'm decent."

She was waiting at the foot of the stairs, closer than I'd thought, and I bounded right into her. She steadied me, holding me a careful distance away for a few seconds before suddenly pulling me closer.

"Wrong again," she murmured in my ear, sending goosebumps down my neck. "You are utterly indecent--no one should look so tempting, it's not fair."

"Tempting how?" I asked. "I can change. . ."

She sighed, shaking her head. "You are _so_ absurd." She pressed her cool lips delicately to my forehead, and the room spun. The smell of her breath made it impossible to think.

"Shall I explain how you are tempting me?" she said. It was clearly a rhetorical question. Her fingers traced slowly down my spine, her breath coming more quickly against my skin. My hands were limp on her waist, and I felt lightheaded again. She tilted her head slowly and touched her cool lips to mine for the second time, very carefully, parting them slightly.

And then I collapsed.

"Bella?" Her voice was alarmed as she caught me and held me up.

"You. . . made. . . me. . . faint," I accused her dizzily.

" _What am I going to do with you_?" she groaned in exasperation. "Yesterday I kiss you, and you attack me! Today you pass out on me!"

I laughed weakly, letting her arms support me while my head spun. 

"So much for being good at everything," she sighed.

"That's the problem." I was still dizzy. "You're _too_ good. Far, far too good."

"Do you feel sick?" she asked; she'd seen me like this before.

"No--that wasn't the same kind of fainting at all. I don't know what happened." I shook my head apologetically. "I think I forgot to breathe."

"I can't take you anywhere like this."

"I'm fine," I insisted. "Your family is going to think I'm insane anyway, what's the difference?"

She measured my expression for a moment. "I'm very partial to that color with your skin," she offered unexpectedly. I flushed with pleasure, and looked away.

"Look, I'm trying really hard not to think about what I'm about to do, so can we go already?" I asked.

"And you're worried, not because you're headed to meet a houseful of vampires, but because you think those vampires won't approve of you, correct?"

"That's right," I answered immediately, hiding my surprise at her casual use of the word.

She shook her head. "You're incredible."

I realized, as she drove my truck out of the main part of town, that I had no idea where she lived. We passed over the bridge at the Calawah River, the road winding northward, the houses flashing past us growing farther apart, getting bigger. And then we were past the other houses altogether, driving through misty forest. I was trying to decide whether to ask or be patient, when she turned abruptly onto an unpaved road. It was unmarked, barely visible among the ferns. The forest encroached on both sides, leaving the road ahead only discernible for a few meters as it twisted, serpent like, around the ancient trees.

And then, after a few miles, there was some thinning of the woods, and we were suddenly in a small meadow, or was it actually a lawn? The gloomy the forest didn't relent, though, for there were six primordial cedars that shaded the entire acre with their vast sweep of branches. The trees held their protecting shadow right up to the walls of the house that rose among them, making obsolete the deep porch that wrapped around the first story.

I didn't know what I had expected, but it definitely wasn't this. The house was timeless, graceful, and probably a hundred years old. It was painted a soft, faded white, three stories tall, rectangular and well proportioned. The windows and doors were either part of the original structure or a perfect restoration. My truck was the only car in sight. I could hear the river close by, hidden in the obscurity of the forest.

"Wow."

"You like it?" She smiled.

"It. . . has a certain charm."

She pulled the end of my ponytail and chuckled.

"Ready?" she asked, opening my door.

"Not even a little bit--let's go." I tried to laugh, but it seemed to get stuck in my throat. I smoothed my hair nervously.

"You look lovely." She took my hand easily, without thinking about it. We walked though the deep shade up to the porch. I knew she could feel my tension; her thumb rubbed soothing circles into the back of my hand. 

She opened the door for me.

The inside was even more surprising, less predictable, than the exterior, it was very bright, very open, and very large. This must have originally been several rooms, but the walls had been removed from most of the first floor to create one wide space. The back, south-facing wall had been entirely replaced with glass, and, beyond the shade of the cedars, the lawn stretched bare to the wide river. A massive curving staircase dominated the west side of the room. The walls, the high-beamed ceiling, the wooden floors, and the thick carpets were all varying shades of white.

Waiting to greet us, standing just to the left of the door, on a raised portion of the floor by a spectacular grand piano, were Edythe's parents.

I'd seen Dr. Cullen before, of course, yet I couldn't help but be struck again by his youth, his outrageous perfection. At his side was Esme, I assumed, the only one of the family I'd never seen before. She had the same pale, beautiful features as the rest of them. Something about her heart-shaped face, her billows of soft, caramel-colored hair, reminded me of the ingenues of the silent-movie era. She was small, slender, yet less angular, more rounded than the others. They were both dressed casually, in light colors that matched the inside of the house. They smiled in welcome, but made no move to approach us. Trying not to frighten me, I guessed.

"Carlisle, Esme," Edythe's voice broke the short silence, "this is Bella." 

"You're very welcome, Bella." Carlisle's step was measured, careful as he approached me. He raised his hand tentatively, and I stepped forward to shake hands with him.

"It's nice to see you again, Dr. Cullen."

"Please, call me Carlisle."

"Carlisle." I grinned at him, my sudden confidence surprising me. I could feel Edythe's relief at my side.

Esme smiled and stepped forward as well, reaching for my hand. Her cold, stone grasp was just as I expected.

"It's very nice to know you," she said sincerely.

"Thank you. I'm glad to meet you, too." And I was. It was like meeting a fairy tale--Snow White, in the flesh.

"Where are Alice and Jasper?" Edythe asked, but no one answered, as they had just appeared at the top of the wide staircase.

"Hey, Edythe!" Alice called enthusiastically. She ran down the stairs, a streak of black hair and white skin, coming to a sudden and graceful stop in front of me. Carlisle and Esme shot warning glances at her, but I liked it. It was natural--for her, anyway.

"Hi, Bella!" Alice said, and she bounced forward to kiss my cheek. If Carlisle and Esme had looked cautious before, they now looked staggered. There was shock in my eyes, too, but I was also very pleased that she seemed to approve of me so entirely. I was startled to feel Edythe stiffen at my side. I glanced at her face, but her expression was unreadable.

"You do smell nice, I never noticed before," she commented, to my extreme embarrassment.

No one else seemed to know quite what to say, and then Jasper was there--tall and leonine. A feeling of ease spread through me, and I was suddenly comfortable despite where I was. Edythe stared at Jasper, raising one eyebrow, and I remembered what Jasper could do.

"Hello, Bella," Jasper said. He kept his distance, not offering to shake my hand. But it was impossible to feel awkward near him.

"Hello, Jasper." I smiled at him shyly, and then at the others. "It's nice to meet you all--you have a very beautiful home," I added conventionally.

"Thank you," Esme said. "We're so glad that you came." She spoke with feeling, and I realized that she thought I was brave.

I also realized that Rosalie and Emmett were nowhere to be seen, and I remembered Edythe's too-innocent denial when I'd asked her if the others didn't like me.

Carlisle's expression distracted me from this train of thought; he was gazing meaningfully at Edythe with an intense expression. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edythe nod once.

I looked away, trying to be polite. My eyes wondered again to the beautiful instrument on the platform by the door. I suddenly remembered my childhood fantasy that, should I ever win a lottery, I would buy a grand piano for my mother. She wasn't really good--she only played for herself on our secondhand upright--but I loved to watch her play. She was happy, absorbed--she seemed like a new, mysterious being to me then, someone outside the "mom" persona I took for granted. She'd put me through lessons, of course, but like most kids, I whined until she let me quit.

Esme noticed my preoccupation.

"Do you play?" she asked, inclining her head toward the piano.

I shook my head. "Not at all. But it's so beautiful. Is it yours?"

"No," she laughed. "Edythe didn't tell you she was musical?"

"No." I glared at her suddenly innocent expression with narrowed eyes. "I should have known, I guess." 

Esme raised her delicate eyebrows in confusion.

"Edythe can do everything, right?" I explained.

Jasper snickered and Esme gave Edward a reproving look.

"I hope you haven't been showing off--it's rude," she scolded.

"Just a bit," she laughed freely. Esme's face softened at the sound, and they shared a brief look that I didn't understand, though Esme's face seemed almost smug.

"He's been too modest, actually." I corrected.

"Well, play for her," Esme encouraged.

"You just said showing off was rude," she replied.

"I'd like to hear you play," I volunteered.

"It's settled then." Esme pushed her toward the piano. Edythe pulled me along, sitting me on the bench beside her.

She gave me a long, exasperated look before she turned to the keys.

And then her fingers flowed swiftly across the ivory, and the room was filled with a composition so complex, so luxuriant, it was impossible to believe only one set of hands played. I felt my chin drop, my mouth open in astonishment, and heard low chuckles behind me at my reaction.

Edythe looked at me casually, the music still surging around us without a break, and winked. "Do you like it?"

"You wrote this?" I gasped, understanding.

She nodded. "It's Esme's favorite."

I closed my eyes, shaking my head.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm feeling extremely insignificant."

The music slowed, transforming into something softer, and to my surprise I detected the melody of her lullaby weaving through the profusion of the notes. 

"You inspired this one," she said softly. The music grew unbearably sweet. 

I couldn't speak.  

"They like you, you know," she said conversationally. "Esme especially."

I glanced behind me, but the huge room was empty now. 

"Where did they go?"

"Very subtly giving us some privacy, I suppose." 

I sighed. " _They_ like me. But Rosalie and Emmett. . ." I trailed off, not sure how to express my doubts.

She frowned. "Don't worry about Rosalie," she said, her eyes wide and persuasive. "She'll come around."

I pursed my lips skeptically. "Emmett?" 

"Well, he thinks _I'm_ a lunatic, it's true, but he doesn't have a problem with you. He's trying to reason with Rosalie."

"What is it that upsets her?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the answer. 

She sighed deeply. "Rosalie struggles the most with. . . with what we are. It's hard for her to have someone on the outside know the truth. And she's a little jealous."

" _Rosalie_ is jealous of _me_?" I asked incredulously. I tried to imagine a universe in which someone as breathtaking as Rosalie would have any possible reason to feel jealous of someone like me.

"You're human." She shrugged. "She wishes that she were, too."

"Oh," I muttered, still stunned. "Even Jasper, though. . ."

"That's really my fault," she said. "I told you he was the most recent to try our way of life. I warned him to keep his distance."

I thought about the reason for that, and shuddered. 

"Esme and Carlisle. . . ?" I continued quickly, to keep her from noticing.

"Are happy to see my happy. Actually, Esme wouldn't care if you had a third eye and webbed feet. All this time she's been worried about me, afraid that there was something missing from my essential makeup, that I was too young when Carlisle changed me. . . She's ecstatic. Every time I touch you, she just about chokes with satisfaction."

"Alice seems very. . . enthusiastic."

"Alice has her own way of looking at things," she said through tight lips.

"And you're not going to explain that, are you?"

A moment of wordless communication passed between us. She realized that I knew she was keeping something from me. I realized that she wasn't going to give anything away. Not now.

"So what was Carlisle telling you before?"

Her eyebrows pulled together. "You noticed that, did you?"

I shrugged. "Of course."

She looked at me thoughtfully for a few seconds before answering. "He wanted to tell me some news--he didn't know if it was something I would share with you."

"Will you?"

"I have to, because I'm going to be a little. . . overbearingly protective over the next few days--or weeks--and I wouldn't want you to think I'm naturally controlling."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, exactly. Alice just sees some visitors coming soon. They know we're here, and they're curious." 

"Visitors?" 

"Yes. . . well, they aren't like us, of course--in their hunting habits, I mean. They probably won't come into town at all, but I'm certainly not going to let you out of my sight till they're gone."

I shivered.

"Finally, a rational response!" she murmured. "I was beginning to think you had no sense of self-preservation at all."

I let that one pass, looking away, my eyes wondering again around the spacious room.

She followed my gaze. "Not what you expected, is it?" she asked, her voice smug.

"No," I admitted.

"No coffins, no piled skills in the corners; I don't even think we have cobwebs. . . what a disappointment this must be for you," she continued slyly.

I ignored her teasing. "It's so light. . . so open."

She was more serious when she answered. "It's the one place we never have to hide."

The song she was still playing, my song, drifted to an end, the final chords shifting to a more melancholy key. The last not hovered poignantly in the silence.

"Thank you," I murmured. I realized there were tears in my eye. I dabbed at them, embarrassed.

She touched the corner of my eye, trapping one I missed. She lifted her finger, examining the drop of moisture broodingly. Then, so quickly I couldn't be positive that she really did, she put her finger to her mouth to taste it. 

I looked at her questioningly, and she gazed back for a long moment before she finally smiled.

"Do you want to see the rest of the house?"

"No coffins?" I verified, the sarcasm in my voice not entirely masking the slight but genuine anxiety I felt. 

She laughed, taking my hand, leading me away from he piano.

"No coffins," she promised.

We walked up the massive staircase, my hand trailing along the satin-smooth rail. The long hall at the top of the stairs was paneled with a honey-colored wood, the same as the floorboards.

"Rosalie and Emmett's room. . . Carlisle's office. . . Alice's room. . ." She gestured as she led me past the doors. 

She would have continued, but I stopped dead at the end of the hall, staring incredulously at the ornament hanging on the wall above my head. Edythe chuckled at my bewildered expression.

"You can laugh," she said. "It _is_ sort of ironic."

I didn't laugh. My hand raised automatically, one finger extended as if to touch the large wooden cross, its dark patina contrasting with the lighter tone of the wall. I didn't touch it, through I was curious if the aged wood would feel as silky as it looked.

"It must be very old," I guessed.

She shrugged. "Early sixteen-thirties, more or less."

I looked away from the cross to stare at her.

"Why do you keep this here?" I wondered.

"Nostalgia. It belonged to Carlisle's father."

"He collected antiques?" I suggested doubtfully.

"No. He carved this himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached."

I wasn't sure if my face betrayed my shock, but I returned to gazing at the simple, ancient cross, just in case. I quickly did the mental math; the cross was over three hundred and seventy years old. the silence stretched on as I struggled to wrap my mind around the concept of so many years.

"Are you alright?" She sounded worried.

"How is Carlisle?" I asked quietly, ignoring her question, still staring up. 

"He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-second birthday," Edythe said. I looked back at her, a million questions in my eyes.

She watched me carefully as she spoke.

"Carlisle was born in London, in the sixteen-forties, he believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately then, for the common people anyway. It was just before Cromwell's rule, though."

I kept my face composed, aware of her scrutiny as I listened. It was easier if I didn't try to believe.

"He was the only son of an Anglican pastor. His mother died giving birth to him. His father was an intolerant man. As the Protestants came into power, he was enthusiastic in his persecution of Roman Catholics and other religions. He also believed very strongly in the reality of evil. He led hunts for witches, werewolves. . . and vampires." I grew very still at the word. I'm sure she noticed, but she went on without pausing. 

"They burned a lot of innocent people--of course the real creatures that he sought were not so easy to catch.

"When the pastor grew old, he placed his obedient son in charge of the raids. At first Carlisle was a disappointment; he wasn't quick to accuse, to see demons where they did not exist. But he was persistent, and more clever than his father. He actually discovered a coven of true vampires that lived hidden in the sewers of the city, only going out by night to hunt. In those days, when monsters were not just myths and legends, that was the way many lived.

"The people gathered their pitchforks and torches, of course"--her brief laugh was darker now--"and waited where Carlisle had seen the monsters exit into the street. Eventually, one emerged."

Her voice was very quiet; I strained to catch the words.

"He must have been ancient, and weak with hunger. Carlisle heard him call out in Latin to the others when he caught the scent of the mob. He ran through the streets, and Carlisle--he was twenty-three and very fast--was in the lead of the pursuit. The creature could have effortlessly outrun them, but Carlisle things he was too hungry, so he turned and attacked. He fell on Carlisle first, but the others were close behind, and he trend to defend himself. He killed two men, and made off with a third, leaving Carlisle bleeding in the street." 

She paused. I could sense she was editing something, keeping something from me.

"Carlisle knew what his father would do. The bodies would be burned--anything infected by the monster must be destroyed. Carlisle acted instinctively to save his own life. He crawled away from the alley while the mob followed the fiend and his victim. He hid in a cellar, buried himself in rotting potatoes for three days. It's a miracle he was able to keep silent, to stay undiscovered.

"It was over then, and he realized what he had become."

I'm not sure what my face was revealing, but she suddenly broke off.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine," I assured her. And, though I bit my lip in hesitation, she must have seen the curiosity burning in my eyes.

She smiled. "I expect you have a few more questions for me."

"A few."

Her smile widened over her brilliant teeth. She started back down the hall, pulling me along by the hand. "Come on, then," she encouraged. "I'll show you."


End file.
